


A Clever Woman

by CollectorOfWonder



Category: Pride and Prejudice & Related Fandoms
Genre: AU/Variation, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-25
Updated: 2015-10-28
Packaged: 2018-04-28 01:41:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 66,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5073058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CollectorOfWonder/pseuds/CollectorOfWonder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This variation picks up sometime after the revelations at Hunsford, but well before Darcy and Elizabeth are ever reunited at Pemberley. Instead, both characters find themselves unexpectedly swept up in events on the Continent, reuniting in the glittering, dangerous world of politics and spies during the Congress of Vienna. When the murder of someone close to Darcy threatens his reputation and everyone close to him, Elizabeth must pull their allies close and discover the truth before their promise of a future is ruined forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story was previously being posted over at a JAFF forum, the Meryton Assembly, but I confess I've recently been distracted by other fan fiction works. I thought I'd start keeping all of my fic efforts in one place.

**Prologue**

_London, Late Autumn of 1813_

_Darcy House_

 

The silence stretched between them, taut and uncomfortable, the more so for its unfamiliarity. The well-laid fire in the library hearth crackled and hissed; a sound Fitzwilliam Darcy normally found of comfort on such chill, damp evenings. Laconic by nature, silence was not in general troubling to him, but it was distinctly out of place for his loquacious friend. “Bingley,” he began, unsure of what he intended to say, but knowing something must be said all the same.

His friend held up a hand to forestall him, troubled countenance turned to the hearth, still refusing to meet Darcy’s concerned gaze. “Do not, I pray, utter words of apology to me. Not at this moment. I will not hear them, for the greatest debt is owed not to me, but to her.” He shifted, but before Darcy could interrupt, continued, “I have oft regretted my abrupt absence, that I allowed myself to be so swayed by opinions outside my own. Despite what you - nay, what we both - believed her affections to be, it was ungentlemanly in the least to have abandoned her to the scorn of her neighbors for such disappointment. Even if I had not intended to raise her hopes, they were raised by others, and I should have made answer to them instead of turning a cowardly tail and running back to London.”

Darcy stood speechless, his brandy forgotten in his hand. Never had he heard such derision and loathing in his friend’s speech, but he was wise enough to sense that the majority was self-directed. That, in its turn, only served to further Darcy’s sense of guilt, both toward Bingley and to the innocent Jane Bennet. Well could he sympathize with the hollow, sharp pain of a broken heart. “I would ask forgiveness, but that is a heavy thing. I wish the courage had been mine to speak of it sooner.”

“Why now, Darcy? It has been a year since I quitted Netherfield, nearly. Why tell me this now when I have no hope of atonement? Wherever her affections stood in April, when you say you spoke to Miss Bennet, I have no doubt they have since waned, and who could fault her?”

“Because I am a fool, Bingley,” Darcy offered, setting his glass aside, “and a coward. I feared this conversation, for the outcome of our friendship in the wake of my infernal meddling. I had thought to postpone it until we could arrange to visit Hertfordshire again, and I might observe Miss Bennet for myself, but that is merely my own cowardice excusing itself as friendship.” He shook his head, slightly. “You deserve a better friend than I, Charles.”

 _Your selfish disdain for the feelings of others_ … Darcy reached for his brandy again, taking a sip for Dutch courage.

Bingley looked for a moment as though he wished to offer words of denial and forgiveness, but then turned away from Darcy to stare at the heavy, drawn curtains and the flickering light of Darcy House’s street candle, hung by his housekeeper’s order earlier that evening. Through the glazing they could hear the occasional carriage rumble through Berkeley Square. Parliament had just begun its sitting, and all about them the entertainments of the Season had begun to gain momentum. It was odd, the sensation that the world continued to move about them while they sat in tense stillness, but such it was. Life would always continue; it was a lesson Darcy had learned harshly in his tender years, confused and troubled by the world’s continuation when his own had been so shaken by his mother’s passing.

It was uncharacteristic of his young friend to hold a grudge for longer than a handful of minutes, and the pit that had developed in Darcy’s stomach at the start of the conversation became more entrenched. It was similar, though different in nature and scope, to the yawning chasm that had opened beneath him as the words of derision and rejection poured forth from the lips of Elizabeth Bennet, sister to Bingley’s own forsaken Jane, and the woman to whom Darcy had long lost his heart.

Those words, spoken some months previous, were as fresh to his mind as though they had been spoken yesterday, and cut twice as deep. He winced, involuntarily, but Bingley did not notice. “You have always told me,” Bingley offered finally, speaking slowly as though puzzling over a riddle, “that disguise is meant for those who are weak in mind and nature, that only truth is of value, especially between the closest of friends.”

This time he was sure Bingley saw his wince, for it was far more pronounced and accompanied by a sharp exhalation. “I have, yes.”

“Yet you concealed Miss Bennet’s presence in London. You lied, and to me. Of all people, it was me to whom you fed a falsehood. I believe that is what has done me the greatest injury.” Bingley met his gaze then, and held it, his wide blue eyes full of confusion and sadness. “I know I owe you a great deal, Darcy, for you have always been a true friend at my side. Yet, have I not always stood at yours, as well? It shows a lack of respect to lie to me like this, I think, and without respect, can there be friendship?”

 _I have every reason in the world to think ill of you_ … How clearly Elizabeth Bennet saw the world! Her mistaken faith in Wickham notwithstanding, for who had ever come under that man’s spell that remained unaffected? The silver-tongued devil could charm one of Elgin’s marbles, let alone a sympathetic and impassioned young woman.

Heavens above, how fervently he hoped she had read the letter he left with her at Rosings, despite its impropriety. Let her toss it upon flame and burn it if she must, if only she took his words to heart! His agents had heard not a stir of Wickham beyond Brighton for the summer, and so his hope remained that he had at least managed to separate the truth from the lies fed to Miss Bennet and revealed Wickham for the scoundrel he was.

Yet it was this grievance with Bingley and her sister, which he had dismissed at the time of her angered accusation, that was proving the most difficult to right. Here was her revulsion truly deserved. The hurt and confusion - the betrayal - in his friend’s formerly open and pleased countenance was a far more damning testament to the truth of Miss Bennet’s condemnation than any words might have been. “I hold you in the highest esteem and respect, Charles.”

At his disbelieving expression, Darcy held up a hand and continued. “I have more respect for you than most other men of our acquaintance, for it is you who has always been the truest and most loyal. Yet I am an arrogant creature, Bingley, and one used to command. I have had the ordering of lives for too long, grown too used to obedience. I do not always consider the...the feelings of others, only what I think they should feel. I can offer no balm to your suffering, save this: if Miss Bennet’s feelings run as true and as deep as her sister describes, they could not have waned so quickly. One does not alter the course of a river in as little as a year.”

Would he cease to love Elizabeth Bennet in the span of a mere year? He had tried, so diligently, to put her out of his mind, only to have her specter rise up in the reflection of light on the glass, which brought to mind that indefinable sparkle of her eye. The bounce of a brown curl upon a dance floor, the light laugh that rewards a witty remark, all these and more would cause him to turn expectantly and his breath to catch in his chest. Often a joke or quote would reach him and he would turn his head fractionally, looking for her face in the crowd, desiring to share her reaction. A specter she remained to him, but was not a haunting preferable to the empty loneliness of the years before he knew her? Even then, though, he knew it would never be enough.

Bingley studied him in silence, his features taught and nigh unreadable. Finally, he nodded, and a semblance of his former cheer returned. “I return to Hertfordshire by month’s end. Do you accompany me?” Darcy exhaled in relief; he was not to be cast out of Bingley’s dear companionship.

Darcy shook his head. “I am afraid I cannot, though I fervently wish it.” Could Bingley sense that this was another lie? Or at the very least, an exaggeration. He could no more return to face the derision of Elizabeth Bennet than he could stand and willingly thrust his hand into the hearth. Yet the cold parts of his soul did beg for the warmth, whatever the pain accompanying it. “I am bound for a trip abroad soon."

Bingley’s eyes narrowed. “Now? Where could you possibly be destined to at this time of year?”

Darcy’s lip twitched. “Officially? Jamaica, to inquire after some business interests. I am told scores of people do so occasionally.”

“Nay, that won’t fadge. Another falsehood, my friend.” Bingley smiled, amusement returning now that his course of action and restitution had been decided upon. “You hold the West Indies business in the greatest contempt; anyone who knows you knows thus. You have scarce been reticent on the subject, considering your family’s ties with Mr. Wilberforce.”

Darcy shrugged one shoulder eloquently in response. “Times and a man’s needs change, and once must begin to look outside England to bolster the family fortune. Particularly with a sister’s large dowry, and a presumably expensive wife.”

His friend’s lip twitched despite the earlier tension. “Darcy, the day you desire a wife with such exquisite spending habits as to drive you to purchase a sugar plantation is the day I shall sprout wings and fly.”

In spite of himself, Darcy laughed. “‘Tis true enough. It is a story, however, that will be easily accepted.” Seeing Bingley’s confusion, he sighed. “I tell you this in utmost confidence, Bingley. Not a one of your family must know, nor my own. Lord Castlereagh has made a request of me that I cannot in good conscience and duty refuse.”

“A request?” Bingley’s eyebrows drew together in concern. Viscount Castlereagh, the Foreign Secretary, was not particularly focused upon the West Indies at the moment, not when fighting in Spain seemed to be approaching its crescendo, for the West Indies had been dealt with decisively by the Royal Navy. Napoleon’s recent defeat at Leipzig had him reeling, and the entire world held its breath - even that much had penetrated the aspiring Corinthian’s usual fog of indifference to affairs beyond fashion and sport.

Darcy’s answering smile was small and taut. “Yes. I am bound for France after Christmas."

As predicted, this engendered an exhaustive list of questions, most of which Darcy could not answer beyond the facts that he still had family that might be of use in the coming days of uncertainty, and could pass reasonably well for a Frenchman with his instinctive command of the language. It was a hazardous situation to be certain, but the duty to King and Country could not be ignored, not for any man of honor.

_...had you behaved in a more gentlemanlike manner…_

“Do I presume too much, Bingley, if I asked you to look in upon my sister occasionally? I have remanded her to the care of Lady Matlock. I do believe she would benefit from acquaintance with the elder Bennet sisters, should it prove that I have not ruined your path to happiness.” He could rest far easier for removing both himself and Colonel Fitzwilliam from Georgiana if only he could think of his sister in company with Elizabeth Bennet. Its origin could not be described, but he felt indeed that the two would be fast friends, and refused to consider it merely a fantasy born of his own wishes. Georgiana would need a friend of Elizabeth’s strength or Jane Bennet’s calm serenity.

Bingley leveled a far more serious look than his wont, which spoke volumes in regards to his opinions on friendship, loyalty, and duty. “I would do no less, my friend.” He extended his hand, and Darcy clasped it in his own, the premonition upon him that he would not see his dear friend again for some time.

It was quite possible that he would never see him again at all.

  
************************  
  


_London, August of 1814_

_Gardiner Residence_

  
  


_My Dearest Aunt,_

_Your most recent letter was full of such charming tales of my little cousins that I find myself hard pressed to relate an equal source of entertainment. Fear not, all is well at Longbourn, our lives flowing like a river along its usual course. The only exception, of course, being my dear Jane._

_They are returned from their wedding trip, and Netherfield seems to be settling into a rhythm, though as to whether that rhythm was recently interrupted by the arrival of Miss Bingley, I cannot say. Jane would not allow a rift in her husband's family, however, and so Miss Bingley joins them for the summer. Jane tolerates her comments and household interference with a serenity that only she can possess, though it does not take much in the way of sisterly knowledge to see that Jane is heartily regretting the end of the Season and Miss Bingley’s diversion with it._

_There is another houseguest of interest at Netherfield, Aunt. Miss Darcy, whom you met in her brother's stead at the wedding, and her companion arrived last week. I have been in her company frequently and am happy to report that she is a very dear, sweet girl who suffers from a retiring, if not bashful, nature. She is more at ease with Jane than anyone, for my dear Jane would be a comfort to any soul, would she not? Miss Darcy does seem to speak more in my presence of late, though, and I do believe she is becoming accustomed to my unorthodox wit._

_Her brother, it seems, remains in the West Indies, though hastens to assure us that he still fully approves of his friend's marriage, and regrets deeply the inability to return in time for the wedding. Mr Bingley believes this readily enough, and I, dear aunt, am learning to reserve judgement, though I own it rankled me to learn that Mr Darcy had business among those islands._

_I did not, you will approve, hasten to share my opinion of the sugar trade - I did say I am learning to withhold judgement! Something of it reflected in my expression, I fear, for then Mr Bingley spent nearly a quarter of an hour telling us of the old Mr Darcy's close friendship with the estimable Mr Wilberforce and how the current Mr Darcy is an outspoken abolitionist, supporting the continuance of the West Africa Squadron despite its expense. If Mr Darcy's business in the West Indies has to do with improving the conditions among the plantations, I own I shall feel ever the worse for my gross misjudgement of his character as opposed to the deceitful Mr Wickham. I cannot but hope for, and dread, the day I am able to offer an apology. I may not like the man, but I have wronged him, and with me that sits ill indeed._

_But let us not speak again of that business. It is enough that you and my uncle were so instrumental in aiding me to keep Lydia from Brighton. I am still in your debt, for though she has made the winter - and the spring, and shows every intention of continuing into the summer - most difficult, she has not run headlong into foolishness and censure, which could only have been her lot in Brighton. Papa has twice outlawed her speaking in company, and once flatly refused to allow her attendance to Mrs Long's card party, even going so far as to threaten sending both Lydia and Kitty back the the schoolroom. I believe she has finally shredded the last of his indulgent peace and is feeling the retribution. Papa is a dear man, with excellent patience, fortified by an excellent library, but it is not infinite. Even Mama has been subdued as of late, abandoning the defense of her favorite daughter after an unfortunate episode involving the demise of a favored pair of embroidery scissors, thrown in tantrum against the wall of the parlor, to say nothing of the resulting tear in the silk damask. Mama was beside herself, of course. You know it has always been her favorite, which is why she has never remade that room. It was an extravagant wedding gift from my dear Uncle, but it has ever made her as proud of Longbourn as its mistress ought to be. So, you see, Lydia is quite out of favor at present._

_I will no longer try your patience with tales of my youngest sister, even as she tries our patience here. I will add only that while I rejoice in your unexpected fortune in the coming of a fifth child, I do mourn the loss of our planned travel to Cornwall, more for the time spent in your treasured company than the travel itself. I have never seen Tintagel and therefore do not know what I am missing, but I do know my delightful Aunt and Uncle and them I must miss deeply._

_Yours in Affection,_

_Elizabeth Bennet_

 

Madeline Gardiner tapped the edge of her niece’s letter against her chin in thought. Her husband glanced up from his perusal of the newspapers. “Dearest? How is Lizzy?”

“Unhappy,” Mrs. Gardiner said simply, well able to read between the lines of an outwardly cheerful letter. “She mourns the former close companionship of an elder sister, and bears the torments of a younger sister’s temper.”

Edward Gardiner grunted slightly in acknowledgement. “Yes, I’ve had a letter from Thomas in that regard as well. He rather blames me for the shattered peace of his home. He does it with wit and at least some self-censure, but it is evident he places the bulk of blame on my shoulders for having disillusioned him about the true nature of young militia officers.”

It took all of her ingrained self-possession to not roll her eyes up to the heavens in supplication. “My love, perhaps this is the solution to our dilemma.” She calmly spread marmalade upon a slice of toast, relieved that she could once again tolerate the smell. “I cannot accompany you to Vienna.”

“I am resolved not to go, my dear. I would not leave you at such a time. Young Mr. Brooks is well able to take care of our interests there.” He took another sip of his coffee and continued his reading, but long years of experience told her that she had his attention.

“Why not take Lizzy with you? She is well able to act as hostess, and far more well-bred and accomplished than your dear Mr. Brooks. Edward, I do hate to be blunt, my love,” she lowered her voice beyond the hearing of their servants, “but with a fifth child coming, I do not believe we should disregard the terms Lord Castlereagh is offering to you.”

Mr. Gardiner sighed and put away his paper. “I have never desired a knighthood, or indeed anything which was beyond my reach at birth. I have wanted only happiness within my family and felicity in marriage, and I have achieved both of them and the success to sustain it.”

Mrs. Gardiner smiled warmly at her husband and placed a hand upon his sleeve. "I know, dearest, and to own I would not think of it if it were for myself alone. I am the youngest child of the youngest child of the third child of a mere baronet who was a yeoman farmer before that. I have been content with my life as first a poor vicar's daughter and later as your wife, and while I am proud of you and our family, it is to the future I look. Not only to our own children, but what opportunities we may afford our beloved nieces as well. It can mean betterment for the whole of our family."

Mr. Gardiner was a man of humility and limited ambition, but also one of good, sound sense, and saw the logic in his wife's presentation. Besides, the planned Congress in Vienna was expected to last a month at the longest. "I will have to be honest with Lizzy," he said slowly, eyes narrowed in thought. "She is all too clever a girl, and if she tumbled to the truth, she would never forgive me, not to mention the risk of exposure. I do not relish the idea of exposing my niece to such intrigue, but it will be of short duration."

"Lizzy may prove to be an asset, you know." She bit into her toast and smiled at her husband. "Women hear a great deal more than we are given credit for hearing, and a clever woman remembers all of it."

Mr. Gardiner's eyebrow hitched upward in mirth. "Heaven save us from clever women in Vienna, then."

****************

TBC

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Vienna, Austria**

**January, 1815**

_Dearest Jane_

_There are still so many impressions of Vienna that I have to impart, I would cost Uncle a fortune in paper and ink were I to set all of them down in my letters. Though the Congress drags its feet through the winter, I find that the city of Vienna itself is a gloriously layered experience. I do fear, however, that the city feels some deep strain as so many heads of state continue to drain her resources. Oh, I could write a hundred diaries of my experiences in Vienna and still not have done it justice. As it stands, I shall restrict myself to what I can write in the limited time I am given to manage my correspondence. This is not, as Uncle did warn me to his credit, a pleasure voyage. I am standing in my Aunt Gardiner’s shoes and finding them very ill-fitting indeed to walk even a single mile in. I already knew her to be the best of women - apart from you, dear Jane - but now I find even more respect for how well she manages her duties and maintains her serenity._

_I have grown spoiled, dear sister, so dreadfully spoiled! How little time it took to adjust to having my own maid and a seemingly endless wardrobe! I haven’t written the half of it to my Mother, knowing it would drive Kitty and Lydia mad with jealousy. I have now had to order an entirely new wardrobe on top of what I had already ordered in October, sheerly to keep pace with the amount of dinners and balls and skating parties and oh, everything else. This is after, of course, I have already altered the existing dresses as far as I dared to make them stretch without looking too frugal. I have tried to keep the designs as elegantly simple as possible, in the hopes of setting my own fashion - for how could I compete with a society determined to glitter as violently as their chandeliers? Uncle approves and claims that I have excellent taste that displays a true English spirit. I hope that is praise, and indeed, His Grace the Duke of Wellington did say more than three words to me during our introduction, which is more than most without a title have ever gotten out of him, so I think he approved._

_Oh, but that was too bad of me to simply mention it like that! Did I make you drop the letter? Heavens, I am becoming Lydia! Now, I will correct my misbehavior and set down precisely how I met His Grace…_

 

_*****************_

 

Darcy sank deeper into the plush chair and with the toe of his boot nudged the fire screen to allow more heat to reach him. He laughed at himself silently for the effort, as heaven knew how he’d readjust to winter at Pemberley. If the mild Toulouse climate had affected him to the point where he was cursing a fog-ridden rainy day in Vienna, perhaps he had indeed lost some of his stolid, English nature.

The stray thought was a sobering one, and he absently stroked his freshly shaved cheek, missing the warmth of his former beard. He also missed the length of hair that had graced his ears and neck - perhaps that was why he felt so cold. Yet Godley, his kind but impassable valet, had demanded that both should be remanded at once by various lengths of well-sharpened steel. He was a French countryman no longer, and once again a member of the English _bon ton._ The irony, of course, sat upon his thoughts with sickening weight.

The library door opened and Stoges appeared. Darcy found himself still unreasonably happy to see the familiar old face. He had sent for most of his trusted London staff as soon as he had set out for Vienna, and all of them had promptly arrived yesterday in proof of their unwavering loyalty to the Darcy family. He would not have done so, of course, if his sister had been making use of their townhouse, but she had returned from Netherfield to Aristock Abbey. He missed her wretchedly, and had been close to sending for her several times in the past weeks, but with both himself and Fitzwilliam in Vienna, she would have to make the journey with her uncle Lord Stalton or his son, the Viscount Eversley, and neither were able to leave England at present.

The butler bowed slightly. “Colonel Fitzwilliam to see you, Mr. Darcy,” the man began, but true to form Fitzwilliam was through the door before the butler had straightened his back. Edmund Fitzwilliam threw Stoges a triumphant smile and bowed lowly, which of course failed to engender any sort of response in the butler, who merely nodded back politely and withdrew from the room.

“I swear, that man is more unflappable than Wellington, himself,” cried Fitzwilliam as he accepted a glass of claret from Darcy, who had risen to pour it as soon as he’d heard his cousin’s name.

“True, but I doubt he could sit a horse half as well in battle.” Darcy tipped his glass toward his cousin.

“On the subject of terrible seats, how are Les Enfants? Settled in admirably, I take it?” The grin Fitzwilliam offered was positively feral. He cared little for the rather fragile and ethereal D’Arcy cousins, accusing them often of having little else between their ears but fluff.

Darcy shrugged. “As well as can be expected. In their own establishment, of course. I could not abide Etienne underfoot constantly. He must learn to stand on his own two feet and care for his sister, without relying upon me quite so heavily.”

“There is a part of me that feels pity for the dunderhead. It was not an easy life under Montilvert’s heel,” Fitzwilliam admitted. “Still, you were younger than he when you inherited both your lands and guardianship of Georgiana, who was a mere child, as opposed to the young woman that Juliet is.”

Darcy set his empty glass to the side, resisting the urge to get another. He’d have to temper himself once more, now that he was no longer in the Pyrenees, where a man excited comment only when he did not drink nearly a bottle with every meal. “True,” Darcy agreed, “though I had you and Lord Stalton to assist me, and even your brother to some extent. Do not underestimate the security one can gain merely knowing familial assistance is assured.”

Fitzwilliam drained his glass, but showed no compunction about pouring another from Darcy’s decanter, though Darcy himself demurred. His expression turning serious, the colonel gazed at the cut crystal pattern in his glass, running his thumb over the sides of it. “Darcy, you are not only my cousin, but also my very dear friend. It is as a friend that I tell you, these two a responsibility that you should not bear. Yes, they are family, but…” There he stalled, unable to put into words his final thought, but Darcy felt he knew precisely what Fitzwilliam was after.

“You still have your doubts about Toulouse, don’t you, Edmund?”

Fitzwilliam sighed and leaned back in his chair, meeting Darcy’s gaze. “I do, yes, but peace, cousin,” he forestalled, holding up his free palm, “peace. I did not come here to speak of battle. I maintain you owe Mariette no debt, but have it as you will. You will always shoulder burdens, and when they’re lifted from you, simply find more.” He set down his glass, the wine glowing red in the firelight. “I tell you now, however, as your very dear friend, that if the time comes, I will cut the rope that binds you rather than let you drown with the house of Montilvert.”

The two men matched gazes, memories of the summer’s events hanging heavily between them. Finally Darcy nodded and looked away. “How very gothic you’ve become, cousin,” he remarked drily, eliciting a laugh.

“Gothic? No, I have left off the gothic and become a student of the new Romantic movement, at the feet of Herr Von Beethoven. Or rather,” he amended when Darcy threw him a knowing look, “a very pretty student of Herr Von Beethoven’s. She plays very prettily, though I will admit she lacks the passion of her idol, but she is young yet and her husband rather neglectful, poor thing. There is time to teach her, if the instructor is of skill and patience.” He winked and Darcy was hard-pressed not to give a rather ungentlemanly snort.

“I have ordered a rather nice piano forte,” Darcy said, hoping to change the subject from Fitzwilliam’s latest hopeful conquest, “ostensibly for Georgiana, but heaven only knows when I can arrange for her arrival. It might sit out the whole of the Congress unplayed, if it truly does end soon as everyone says it must.”

“I have my doubts there, but as for your piano forte, perhaps you will be able to persuade the charming Miss Bennet to play it, though I admit you’ll have to persuade Juliet to play hostess, and Lord knows the poor girl is frightened enough of even close relatives. What is it, cousin? you look pale.”

If Darcy had been drinking wine, he might have choked. As it was, he shook his head and straightened himself in his chair, thinking he must have misheard. “I’m sorry, Fitz, did you mention the name of Bennet?”

There was a certain twinkle in the colonel’s eye that alarmed Darcy, as it had precluded many a childhood mischief. “Yes, I did. Were you not aware? The estimable Miss Elizabeth Bennet is currently in Vienna, playing hostess for her uncle. He’s been knighted, by the way, the uncle. A Sir Edward Gardiner, he is, and apparently an intimate of Castlereagh’s. It’s not an acquaintance that would stand the light of day in London, but I suspect neither gentleman wishes to see hide nor hair of the other once we are all returned to England’s shores. Miss Bennet is, however, quite the toast in some of the English circles at the moment. She is, reputedly, a magnificent hostess, and quite the favorite of Wellington’s, though given his proven tastes and proclivities, that his hardly surprising. He does enjoy a pretty young thing with dark hair and a razor wit.”

This, of course, was the woman he had doubted could be the next Mistress of Pemberley. What astounding arrogance! It took all of Darcy’s self-control not to throttle his cousin and demand further details. Said cousin had been speaking, however. “My apologies, what did you say, Fitzwilliam?”

That mischievous devil of amusement danced in the colonel’s eye again, but he managed to keep himself from smiling as he replied, “I have her direction, should you wish it.”

Darcy swallowed past a suddenly dry throat. “Why should I wish it?”

“Why should you not?” Fitzwilliam countered. “She is an acquaintance, after all, and this is a rather lonely city for us Englishmen. I, for one, intend to continue calling upon her, and Sir Edward. Capital fellow.”

Hope and desire beat a mad rhythm in Darcy’s chest, but he looked away, allowing his gaze to land first on the fire and then on his memories. Elizabeth Bennet’s angry, hurt features seemed to look out at him from the dancing flames in challenge. No, no matter how badly he wished to see her, she would not wish to see him. He would be civil and kind should they meet in public, but seek her out? That he could not do. “I wish you well of it, cousin. Our acquaintance is slight enough I do not feel to inflict my presence, as you would say. If we meet in society, I will of course give my greetings to her and her family, including Mrs. Bingley.”

Fitzwilliam could have challenged him; they both knew that Georgiana was a regular correspondent of Miss Bennet’s as well as an intimate of Mrs. Bingley’s, but showing an uncharacteristic sensitivity, the good colonel let it rest.

After a last brandy, Colonel Fitzwilliam rose to leave, but not before former words of his finally caught up with his cousin’s stunned ears. “Hold a moment, Edmund,” Darcy called before he could open the library door. “What do you mean, she’s a great favorite of Wellington’s?”

 

*************************

 

“You are exaggerating, Captain West,” Elizabeth Bennet laughed. “I have met His Grace once and once only, and while it is true he paid me a very generous compliment, I fancy it is merely because at that moment he was longing to speak to anyone British. He was in the middle of a rather fussy bunch of Austrian matrons who were all vying to see to his comfort with cushions and refreshments. I do hear that he detests a fuss, and I fear he will regret it heartily when Lord Castlereagh returns to England and leaves His Grace to fend for England’s interests alone. Shall we place bets on how long it will take before our esteemed hero of war begins to employ his successful battlefield tactics in place of diplomacy out of sheer frustration?”

Lizzy opened her fan and angled herself to catch the slight breeze from the open window in the gallery while her companions laughed. She maintained in her thoughts that only the devil himself could have invented such a hellish thing as a rout-party, with its absolute crowding, and heat. As a true Bennet girl, she chuckled to herself behind her fan, she was closeted with a handful of soldiers. Yet these were no militia youths looking for a callous flirt. Captain West, Colonel Ogleby, and Major Harrington were all trusted friends of her uncle Gardiner, and of Lord Castlereagh.

Her mother, came the mischievous thought, would have been positively apoplectic at the sad fact that Lizzy had attached not a single one of the three handsome, eligible suitors. Well, two were truly handsome, and the third was charming enough to distract attention from his rather long face. Soon she was left alone with only the charming one, as Captain West and Colonel Ogleby were called away to perform introductions for Ogleby’s veritable army of nieces and nephews.

She exchanged an amused look with the major, who coughed discreetly behind his white glove to hide a grin. “Well, at least the colonel knows where he stands,” the major offered. “I’ve known a lad or two to get called home to take up a title unexpectedly vacated by a dissolute or tragic ending of an elder brother. Not only is Colonel Ogleby a third son, but his elder two brothers have been blessed with prolific progeny.”

“Indeed,” Elizabeth agreed, laughing. “We could have surrounded Paris with Oglebys alone.”

Major Harrington offered his arm gallantly. “It is rather close up here in the gallery, is it not? I have it on good authority there is to be some dancing downstairs in the ballroom. The Ogleby girls have persuaded Lady Alltwyth. Did I pronounce that right? I am dreadful with the Welsh.”

“I do not think it is going to be any less warm in the ballroom, Major, but I am happy to accompany you.” She nodded at a few passing acquaintances as they maneuvered deftly through large clumps of humanity, some at cards, some at drinks, all at loud levels of conversation.

“Ah, well, isn’t that interesting,” Harrington murmured near her ear as they descended into the ballroom. Elizabeth looked at him with a curiously raised eyebrow, then followed his gaze to where it rested on a young gentleman and lady, both tall and slender, and exceedingly handsome. “The D’Arcy siblings have made an appearance - the Baron D’Arcy and his sister, Lady Juliet. They’re rather reclusive, so it is something of a surprise to see them in attendance.”

She blinked at the name. “Pardon me, did you say ‘Darcy’?”

“D’Arcy,” he repeated, emphasizing the French pronunciation. “Scions of the house of Montilvert. You met the Comte last week. He is their stepfather, I do believe, and the lad there is his heir in addition to having already inherited a rather handsome property from his father’s family in the Pyrenees. They’ve managed to hold on to their lands, too, through all of the unrest, though rumor has it they had been spending their time in Brussels, mostly, before the peace.”

Yes, she remembered the Comte de Montilvert quite vividly. He was a difficult man to forget. The man was all hard edges, she recalled thinking, with no softness to either his appearance or personality. He was quite a mover in the French camp, though not on good terms with Talleyrand, who had abandoned the Spanish and Portuguese once Austria and Britain had let him into their circle. Montilvert had cultivated the support of the lesser powers, which all consolidated into a rather deep wellspring of political cachet. Metternich downright hated the Comte, which led to more Austrian cooperation with Talleyrand - a strategy Elizabeth had remarked upon as being rather clever, if done intentionally, though to all appearances the three gentlemen seriously disliked one another.

“‘All of the unrest’,” Elizabeth echoed softly, watching the D’Arcy siblings speak quietly to one another, the woman with her eyes downcast, and the young man nervously tapping his fingers against his wine glass. She thought of all the chaos and bloodshed, the scope of which she couldn’t quite comprehend, having lived safely at home with her boisterous, loving family, secure in their position in the staid English countryside. Her life was untouched by rebellions and bloody uprising, clean of war and famine and fear. “How difficult it must have been for them.”

Harrington frowned, then nodded. “Yes, I suppose it has been. I fear I am not yet in the habit of looking upon any Frenchman as an object of sympathy, but I must now turn my sword to a ploughshare, and my soldier’s mind to that of a gentleman’s. I am far out of practice.” He smiled at her as the next set was announced. “Speaking of which, might I practice with your gentle guidance in the next set? It is a cotillion, I believe.”

Elizabeth smiled. The major was an excellent dancing partner, light on his feet and full of ready wit, so it was a joy to accept. They joined the set, and soon enough his comments on the other dancers had her holding back unseemly laughter to the point where she felt nearly brimming with it and prayed she would not disgrace herself. It must have been fated, she thought later, that it would be at such a precise moment that she would change partners and turn to face the last man she would have ever expected to see again.

 

********************

 

Darcy was not fond of balls. He was equally not fond of card-parties, or any other sort of party that required large amounts of people and increasingly smaller rooms in which to fit said people. Rout-parties, he had discovered, were a very special brand of hell. He had clamped down his foul mood and countered it with few glasses of the host’s excellent champagne. After catching a disapproving eye from one or two matrons and chaperones, Darcy reluctantly stayed his urge to reach for a few more.

He truly did need to stop drinking like a Frenchman. He was in no danger of inebriation, having built up quite the strong head for drink, but it would excite comment. Vienna was a rare opportunity for him to pass somewhat unnoticed in society, as there were - as Edmund had phrased it - far bigger fish in the ocean than a simple landed gentleman with no title.

It occurred to him that he was rather unencumbered at present, and could quite frankly do as he pleased. He could take a lover if he cared to. He was not immune to the glances that were sent his way by many bored and bejeweled ladies of various nations. Yet that thought was dismissed as quickly as it entered his head. Light entertainments aside, there were many political pitfalls in Vienna, and it would take a far more discerning eye than his to determine which women were simply bored and which were searching for leverage. His connection to Montilvert was not broadcast, but neither was it secret.

Besides, he was too old to sow his wild oats, so to speak. The age when such behavior might have been acceptable had passed him by while he had been immersed with responsibility and grief, and now...well, he was no rake. Hollow pleasures were just that - hollow. He’d had enough of feeling hollow to last a lifetime.

He moved to another room, drifting toward the strains of music. When he wasn’t under pressure to stand up with various young women and whispers weren’t ricocheting about the room concerning his wealth and expectations, Darcy found that there was a simple enjoyment to be had in observing the dancers in a set. There were interesting exchanges between partners - and with those who weren’t partners - in a dance, particularly in a contredanse, that were fascinating to an observer. Some were verbal, some were distinctly (and occasionally embarrassingly) non-verbal, but it was quite illuminating.

A woman strode by with a laugh that sounded familiar, but further inspection proved that she was Swiss, and wholly unconnected to him. Darcy cursed slightly under his breath as he realized that he was, once again, constantly looking for the familiar face of Miss Elizabeth Bennet in the crowd. He had broken himself of the habit, but Fitzwilliam’s recent mention of the lady had brought it back with a force. He closed his eyes briefly, willing his heartbeat to settle. It was no good to torture himself like this; and just when he begun to put the heartbreak behind him and move forward.

He caught sight of his cousins standing together out of the crowd, and sighed. Juliet was a lovely girl, but was more shy than even Georgiana or himself. Etienne merely floundered with conversation even in his native French, let alone English. Darcy supposed he should ask Juliet to stand up for a set, though she wouldn’t thank him for it.

They joined the set a few minutes later, Juliet as icily silent as he had predicted. He might have disliked crowds, but it was nothing to the shattering fear he knew gripped Juliet. Yet she would have to triumph over it at some point, and if he could urge her to face it sooner rather than later, the better it would be for everyone. He squeezed her fingers gently and reassuringly, and by the middle of the set, she was willing to meet his eyes when they passed each other, though she was not comfortable enough to speak. That was just as well; he also disliked to talk while dancing.

Memories of lively banter with Miss Bennet on that exact point made him smile, and he turned to face the new partner being exchanged in the cotillion figure, the smile still gracing his face. They gripped fingers before finally locking gazes, and Darcy could only send a silent, fervent prayer of thanks for his excellent dancing master when he received the shock of his life in the form of Elizabeth Bennet’s laughing, sparkling eyes inches from his own.

Pure instinct kept him moving through the figure, as it must have done for her as she gazed at him with an equally shocked expression. She was, he noted dimly, as beautiful as he remembered, if not more. They exchanged no words as they moved through the dance, but Darcy’s attention had been wholly captured, and from the turning of her head, so had Miss Bennet’s.

The dance separated them into different sets of partners, but when it ended, he tucked Juliet’s arm under his and despite every instinct that told him to run, he headed straight for where Miss Bennet stood with her partner; a tall gentleman with a major’s insignia upon a neat red coat. Though not particularly handsome, the man had an air of intelligence in his eyes and a force of personality around him, which was precisely the sort of man whose attentions Darcy could have expected Elizabeth to have accepted.

It was going to be an exquisite torture, but Darcy was determined not to give Miss Elizabeth Bennet yet another reason to think ill of him by rudely ignoring her presence.

Her eyes were downcast as they approached, but those of her escort were darting between Darcy and Juliet with an inquisitive recognition. “Miss Bennet,” he acknowledged, after proper bows and curtseys had been exchanged. “It is quite the unexpected pleasure to greet you here in Vienna. I hope I find you and your relations well?”

“Mr. Darcy,” she replied, finally looking up at him, and he could see she was quite clearly embarrassed and hadn’t quite recovered herself. Her cheeks were a fetching shade of pink. “It is an honor and a pleasure, sir. I am equally surprised to see you. My relations are quite well, I thank you, and I have had the pleasure of receiving a letter quite recently from Georgiana. She made no mention that you were in Vienna.” She phrased the last statement as a question, and though it might have otherwise been rather impertinent, her voice and expression were soft and amiable.

He smiled. “I have only recently arrived and just sent a missive to my sister this morning, so in this instance, you are informed before she. I doubt she had even received the previous letter. Might I introduce my cousin, Lady Juliet D’Arcy, to you? Juliet, this is Miss Elizabeth Bennet, from Hertfordshire. Her sister is Mrs. Bingley, lately married to my dear friend Charles, of whom I’ve spoken to you and Etienne.”

Darcy could see the recognition in Juliet’s eyes. He had told her mother far more than that meager information about Elizabeth Bennet, and it appeared perhaps Mariette had not been quite the soul of discretion he had assumed. Juliet smiled and looked Miss Bennet in the eye, which was quite the accomplishment for her acute shyness.

He could see immediately that Elizabeth recognized this - of course she would, she had met his sister - and her smile gained more warmth as she exchanged pleasantries. “Might I introduce my companion, Major Joshua Harrington.”

The name, if not the face, were familiar. Darcy extended his hand. “Major Harrington. I believe I am acquainted with your brother, Lord Bellhope. A fine gentleman, one of the finest of my acquaintance, I believe.”

“You do my family an honor, sir,” Harrington replied as he clasped Darcy’s hand. They exchanged further pleasantries as a group, with Juliet surprisingly responsive to the major’s gentle inquiries.

Darcy gave himself leave to examine Elizabeth as she responded to a polite question about music that Juliet posed. She had been discomposed during the set, that was certain, but now she seemed to be more at ease and did not appear to resent his presence. He should walk away, he knew. He should return Juliet to her brother and then collect his carriage and escort them home before returning to his own townhouse where he would idle away the hours in the library pretending occupation by reading Faust in German, which he had begun on the journey to Vienna.

It would not have been a poor evening, had he not encountered her. Now he knew for certain that any evening that did not contain the radiant smile of Elizabeth Bennet was bound to be dim in comparison to that which she graced. Her hair was perfectly twisted and pinned slightly looser than fashion dictated, which gave her an air of softness Darcy found pleasing. She wore a diaphanous gown of white net over a slip of pale gray silk. Embroidered white flowers with tiny silver beads danced their way from the hem of her gown to the raised waistline just below the bodice. Refined elegance without ostentation, he thought approvingly.

She would, indeed, have made quite a mistress of Pemberley.

Darcy resisted the urge to loosen his suddenly uncomfortable cravat. It was past time to make his excuses and retreat, but as soon as the thought crossed his mind, Miss Bennet turned to face him and caught his stare. A blush suffused her cheeks, and she looked away briefly, but then she smiled. It was a secret, furtive sort of smile that he knew must have been prompted by some internal reverie, but there was nothing mocking in it, only pleased amusement. When she met his eyes again, her own seemed to sparkle in the candlelight.

Hell and damnation, he thought viciously, he was every bit as lost as he had been over a year ago. Time had done nothing to distance his heart.

Etienne had joined them, and Darcy drew himself out of his turbulent thoughts to once more perform introductions. Etienne was every bit as beautiful as his sister, and nearly as retiring, so it was no surprise to see Elizabeth successfully engage him in conversation. Darcy himself said little, though he attempted not to look stern, for he would not wish her to think that he held himself above the company.

He had just struck up a conversation about mutual acquaintances in London with Major Harrington - to Elizabeth’s approval, he noted - when Colonel Fitzwilliam appeared over Etienne’s shoulder and held out his hand. “Miss Bennet, our set, I believe?” he asked as the strains of a waltz filled the ballroom. “Baron, Lady Juliet, pleasure to see you out and about. Harrington, you are wanted by Ogleby. More precisely, you are wanted by one of his pretty nieces. Possibly more, but do try to contain yourself.”

Elizabeth Bennet smiled widely at his dear cousin, and Darcy felt an icy fist close around his heart. Could she possibly have tender regard for Edmund? They had gotten along famously in Kent. Fitzwilliam was, Darcy was compelled to admit, everything that he himself was not, as a man. “With pleasure, Colonel,” she replied, and it only cut him further when he realized that she had never addressed him with the same amount of warmth in her voice.

Yet the Colonel caught his eye with a significant look before he led Miss Bennet to where the couples were gathering. Darcy gritted his teeth and resolved not to show a jealousy to which he had no right, and furthermore not to jump to hasty conclusions until he had spoken - and possibly wrangled the life from - his cousin.

 

***************

 

“I am grateful for your appearance, Colonel,” Elizabeth murmured as they took up position across from each other and clasped hands. The Viennese country dance had taken some getting used to, especially the variations where one did not change partners, but now she barely thought a thing of its morality. More importantly to her, it allowed some semblance of private conversation at such a crowded event.

Fitzwilliam frowned. “Did Darcy make you uncomfortable?”

“No,” she said quickly, “not at all. Quite the opposite, but it must have been difficult for him and I could not but help be aware of it.” It had been astonishing, as well, to have crossed paths with Colonel Fitzwilliam once again, but with consideration, she ought to have expected some of Wellington’s favorites among the English delegation in Vienna. Indeed, Colonel Fitzwilliam was also an intimate of the Marquess of Londonderry, having fought beside him in Talavera and Badajoz, which made him in turn an intimate of Lord Castlereagh’s, as the two men were half-brothers. With her own surprising introduction to Castlereagh’s more informal circle through her uncle, she and Colonel Fitzwilliam had been thrown together quite often enough to have become close confidants.

In fact, he was her only true confidant in Vienna, even apart from her uncle. There was no one she had ever trusted quite as much as she trusted Edmund Fitzwilliam. To her own relief - and likely his, as she knew that he must marry for money, and though her portion was increased through both Bingley and her uncle’s new fortune, she was still not quite an heiress - that trust had developed only into a sibling-like bond, and nothing more romantic. She knew he found her attractive, but not attractive enough to still his wandering eye, she mused wryly. And while he was certainly one of her very favorite gentlemen, she had never experienced anything more than a passing curiosity over his own physique. While many marriages were built on less amiable friendships, they had both honestly confessed to each other that such a union was in neither’s interest.

Besides, he had questioned her on Mr. Darcy’s regard, and she had eventually given him the whole truth, trusting him to conceal his knowledge from his cousin. He had too much honor to pursue a woman that his dearest relation had desired. Certainly not when his breeding, connections, and manner could recommend him to any number of suitable women.

“Indeed,” Elizabeth continued, “Mr. Darcy was quite amiable, and I can have no objection to his presence, if he has no objection to mine. Given our quarrel and the severe things I said to him, though, I could not blame him if he wished to pretend only the barest civility. Even that I am not sure that I deserve.”

Fitzwilliam’s lip twitched. “Were you so very dreadful? I had noticed that while you could recall all of my cousin’s inept declarations, you conveniently recalled none of your own.”

She laughed in spite of herself. “I was wretched to him. Absolutely abominable.”

They moved into the promenade portion of the dance and they changed positions to stand next to each other and move in unison. Most couples pressed their hips together in such a movement to provide a more provocative figure, but she never did with the Colonel, mostly because their relative heights were too different and he threw her off balance if they did.

Heavens, she mused, how very Continental her sensibilities had become. She would shock Hertfordshire upon her return, and Lydia’s antics would seem mild in comparison.

“Speaking of abominable,” he interjected, a smile upon his face but steel that she recognized in his eyes.

She took his cue to turn their conversation to business. “They don’t look a thing like Montilvert,” she said. “Though I suppose he is only their stepfather. You might have mentioned the connection to your own family.”

Fitzwilliam sighed as they regained their positions across from each other and he placed an arm around her waist. The other arms they held above their heads with hands clasped. She placed her own upon his shoulder and they were in the perfect position to share confidences, as well as a delightful waltz. Turns had always been her favorite portion of a dance, and the dancing the waltz was akin to eating only the cakes at tea. She loved the motion of it, and even, yes, the sensuality of the movements and positions. If she could waltz with a man she truly desired, it would be heaven itself. As it stood, it was still a far more enjoyable way to share secrets and information.

“Darcy’s family,” he corrected. “Only mine tangentially. You were excellent in keeping them engaged in conversation. Juliet has spoken a total of five words to me in all the time I’ve known her, and you had several full sentences.”

“I am not as intimidating.”

“Indeed. Can you befriend them, do you think?” He frowned. “I know I ask quite a lot. I would not, if it weren’t so important.”

“Toulouse?” she mouthed silently. “You wish me to discover if they have any information on your possible traitor?” came the whispered question when her first was answered with a stiff nod.

“I know they do, but I cannot get it from them. Or from Darcy. He views them as little more than helpless lambs, and that is a view I’m loathe to pierce.” Fitzwilliam sighed again. “He has had more than his share of betrayal, and I would not point fingers until I can provide evidence.”

Elizabeth bit her lip in thought. “Will Mr. Darcy not find it odd? It might appear to him as though I’m attempting to ingratiate myself back into his good graces. He may close ranks around the D’Arcy family.”

Fitzwilliam shook his head. “My dear Miss Bennet, he will be far too occupied in being thankful for his incredible good fortune that you should even still wish to give him the time of day, let alone converse with him and seek acquaintances among his family. I believe he still loves you,” he added thoughtfully, more to himself than to her.

She swallowed past a sudden burning in her throat. “Would that not make the masquerade deplorable? You would have me use your cousin’s affections.”

“No, Miss Bennet, not use. I seek to ease his pain, not add to it. The two of you must be able to inhabit the same sphere as friends and equals, if you are both to keep the friendship of the Bingleys when we all return to England. You cannot ask Bingley to choose between his wife’s favorite sister and his closest friend, can you?”

After a long minute’s thought, she nodded her agreement. “You are a relentless man, Edmund Fitzwilliam. I could even call you ruthless.”

He smiled, and that steel glinted once more in his expression. “I know. Now come, do let us enjoy the rest of the dance.”

  
***********************  
  


Absolute torture.

Darcy had heard a few words here and there about the Austrian country dances popular in Vienna, particularly the waltzes and the Ländler for their - to English eyes - impropriety. Though if Darcy were honest, he had seen some pretty rousing village dances in his youth. Villagers, peasants, farmers of any country, he felt, did not let social conduct temper their fun. Morals, he had heard said, were the construct of the aristocracy. While Darcy didn’t agree fully with that viewpoint, as propriety was the very cornerstone of English society, he did note that there was a certain freedom that was exchanged in turn for power and wealth.

He had shrugged off his own opinion on the matter, laughing to Mariette that it seemed every generation was given at least one good shock to their morals by the younger generation at its heels. Mariette had taught him the steps that she remembered, then,  along with Etienne and Juliet, and it had not seemed so very improper at the time.

Of course, though the Comtesse had been a truly beautiful woman and an elegant dancer, having her in his arms for that scandalous dance had not set him aflame, not the way that the mere thought of holding Elizabeth Bennet so closely did. And to watch his cousin, of all people, dance this indecently close waltz, promenading hip to hip, swirling her delicious skirts around so that a spectator could see the very curve of a silk stocking to well-shaped ankle, eliciting her laughter and conversation...no, that was too much. Far too much to be borne.

Etienne and Juliet had looked worn thin, and so he used them as an excuse to escape, escorting them home and then returning to his own hired dwelling to bury himself in the library and Faust. Except the well-worn spine and the satisfying cadence of the German tongue gave him no comfort. Darcy sank further down in the chair he’d claimed as a favorite, though it was nothing to his oversized, overstuffed green velvet chair at Pemberley.

He closed his eyes as an overwhelming longing for his home swept through his very bones. How long had it been since he’d been at Pemberley? Two years, nearly. Two long, painful, wretchedly lonely years. For some of it, at least, he’d had Edmund’s society, and that had been of infinite comfort during that horrid, tragic spring in Toulouse.

Mariette’s face, so frighteningly pale and still in death, flashed again before his eyes and yet again he castigated himself for his foolishness.

...had it been his fault?

Deeply in his mind, he did blame himself for Mariette’s death, little though he actually had to do with it. Yet was it not all another symptom of his abominable pride? Of course he blamed himself; as Edmund had pointed out, Darcy was ever willing to shoulder the burden. Yet the guilt was real enough, and he knew he couldn’t leave Vienna for home, not yet. Not until he was sure he wouldn’t be abandoning Etienne and Juliet to the wolves, especially the vicious pack lead by the Comte.

Edmund Fitzwilliam’s steadfast loyalty and support had been a godsend that spring and summer. In so many ways, his cousin had served as the badly needed anchor back to England, and family - his true family. Without it, he might have lost himself in the Pyrenees, forgotten his legacy and his home and even his dearest sister. It had been so very terribly tempting to one who had shouldered so much responsibility and grief for so long.

The truth of it was, of course, that Darcy had discovered that he didn’t much like the man he’d become, and he had grasped the opportunity to rush off into the unknown with both hands, hoping somehow to find the reflection of himself in how he dealt with adversity. Yet it had almost undone him completely, and only Edmund had been able to pull him back from that precipice. Edmund was a man who could all to well understand the perils of both losing oneself and finding one’s courage and heart in the heat of conflict. The two men had moved from amiable cousins to brothers in the span of a few months of bloodshed and toil.

For that alone, Darcy knew, he would offer no impediment to his cousin, should Edmund choose to pursue Elizabeth Bennet. It would hurt - it did hurt, desperately - but he would endure it, for he loved them both, and both deserved every blessing and chance at happiness. Darcy groaned and slid down in the chair, propping his slippered feet on the stool provided, his book forgotten and his banyan crumpled at his back. Godley would have words about his ill treatment of the Chinese silk.

Hell and damnation, he thought again. Was there to be no end to the knots Elizabeth Bennet would tie him into?

  
*******************************  
  


Elizabeth climbed into the turned down and warmed covers gratefully, every bone in her body limp with exhaustion. Yet as she lay still, her body melting comfortably into a heaven of down and lavender-scented cotton, her turbulent thoughts refused to obey the course of her limbs and rest. It had been an incredibly eventful evening.

From elsewhere in the house she could hear her uncles rumbling snores, and she laughed quietly to herself. They had both been drooping in the carriage on the way home, her uncle, she knew, suffering a bit more than herself. He’d had new shoes only that morning, and they must have tortured him dreadfully. It had provided him a convenient excuse to sit and chat with the matrons lining the walls, and with his proficiency in language, heaven only knew what new information he’d gleaned.

Her uncle Gardiner had cocked his head at her in the carriage, the occasional lamplight illuminating a considering look on his face whenever they chanced to pass one. “Do you know, Lizzy,” he said speculatively, “I believe you have found your true place in the world.”

She had stifled a yawn. “What, Vienna? It is a charming city, I confess, but I do long for England. I haven’t had a proper bit of trout in ages.”

He had ignored the obvious bait about his favorite pastime of fishing. “No, my dear, I meant this -” he waved a hand indeterminately.

“Well, that certainly clarifies things.”

“Lizzy!” he admonished, and she laughed. “See? That is precisely what I mean. You were always an entertaining child, you know, so clever and ever the witty one. Yet I think you were always in Jane’s shadow. Jane is a truly lovely woman, both inside and out,” he added to forestall her protests, “but Fanny never did let you shine, for she is somewhat frightened of intelligence. Jane’s beauty is easier for her to understand and cherish. Your father was content to keep your light under a bushel, for it kept you close to him.”

“Uncle,” she protested, “I can hardly be accused of hiding my light under a bushel! I have always been far more likely to set fires with it.”

He had shaken his head, smiling at her. “You have outgrown Meryton, and Longbourn with it, Lizzy. In fact, I think you have outgrown ‘Lizzy’. You are Elizabeth Bennet, a clever, confident, beautiful woman in full command of herself and her life. I have trusted you enough to allow you into my confidence and given you the reigns of our entertainments and society, and you have performed above admirably. Heavens, I’ve hardly needed poor Mr. Brooks. I could not be prouder of you, were you my own daughter.”

She had been too stunned to speak, never having received such an effusive compliment from any of her family before, yet a drooping of her uncle’s head warned her that perhaps he had imbibed a little too much of Lady Alltwyth’s champagne.

Still, the thought gave her pause as she lay beneath the counterpane, unable to sleep. Had she not written to Jane that she had become dreadfully spoiled in Vienna? She felt different. Perhaps not spoiled, but different. More sophisticated, more aware of the world. Her eyes had been opened to the truth of things here in Vienna, on a personal level with the intrigues of romance and passion (Prince Metternich’s set was...enlightening, and more than a little shocking at times), and politically. Even being on the very periphery of the knowledge of such things was more than would ever have happened to her in England, and here she had become involved, an active player.

Well, with the political intrigue, if not the passionate. Lord have mercy, but everyone seemed to be embarked on some sort of affair or another except for herself and her uncle. He had spoken to her as frankly as he dared in an effort to warn her against the machinations of unscrupulous men, though she’d been able to deal with them effectively. Ogleby, Harrington, and West were her appointed guardians, as well, and bless them for their continued efforts on her behalf.

Beyond a moment’s consideration of the good Colonel Fitzwilliam, however, Elizabeth hadn’t felt even a twinge of interest or passion for any of the men she’d encountered. They were too short, too thin, too loud, too timid, too brotherly. She knew it would be a disappointment to her mother were she to return to England without a betrothed in tow, but neither would she let that sway her into an alliance that did not possess her whole heart.

A heart which had thudded alarmingly upon her unexpected encounter with Mr. Darcy.

Elizabeth sighed and rolled over onto her back, gazing up at the canopy of her bed in thought. Heavens, had he always been so devilishly handsome? She thought back to his first entrance into the assembly at Meryton, how he had seemed to command the room with his presence…

...and how she’d vowed at the time to herself that never had she seen a more handsome and intriguing man.

Yet then he’d opened his mouth and nothing but pride and disdain had poured forth, and it had colored her view of him. He was not so handsome, his eyes were not so captivating, the hint of his smile wasn’t alluring in the slightest, but he was cold, proud, distant. He was not for her.

And then he was! Stunningly, frighteningly hers in a declaration that had sent her reeling and left her furious. It was not wanted, this upset of her life and peace, especially not when she had written him off and exactly the sort of man she would never want!

 _And could never have_ , an insidious little voice whispered.

Time and distance had given her more perspective, and while she could not claim love or even affection - for how could she, barely knowing his true self? - she had begun to feel more and more guilt over her treatment of him. He had vindicated himself against Wickham’s lies, and revealed far more character than she had believed he possessed. Darcy was a good man, an honorable man, and even if he were not a man she could love (for had she not so effectively closed her heart to him?) he had loved her and she had tossed that love back in his face with withering scorn.

It was not, she admitted, the way she would have wanted her own heart to be treated, and yet she had thought nothing of tearing his in two. Had she even believed that he possessed one?

The worst of it was that she had hardly thought of it at all, except with some passing regret occasionally, until that moment when she’d spun around to find herself face to face with him. The memories that had dimmed had roared to life and the specter of her thoughts coalesced into a real, flesh-and-blood man. She had recalled, in that very moment, the last expression she had seen upon his face, the hurt, anger, and denial. A sharp pain had stabbed through her chest, as though she were by penance reliving the wound she had inflicted upon him.

Yet the look in his eyes when he realized her identity, the way he stared at her throughout the set...she hardly knew what to make of it, except that it set every nerve aflame with awareness. Elizabeth wasn’t certain if Colonel Fitzwilliam was correct in his assessment, but she believed that perhaps, if not love, then Darcy still...desired her. She had felt his warm regard, noticed where his eyes lingered on her frame, all while she spoke with the stunningly beautiful Lady D’Arcy. And yet Mr. Darcy looked at her, at Elizabeth, and not the elegant creature at his side.

How in heaven had she ever mistaken that look for disapproval?

 _Because you did not ever believe it could be otherwise_. The little voice in her head sounded remarkably like Jane.

That some of his regard still existed was incredible, and she was conscious of a warm gratitude. Yet she was frightened of it, worried she would hurt him again, or perhaps that it would hurt her. How very little she truly knew of him! Would Fitzwilliam’s plan to ingratiate herself with the Baron D’Arcy and his sister have the terrible consequences she feared? Would Darcy feel betrayed, used? Would her heart soften towards him only to cause his own to harden against her in anger?

 _Why, if you do not care at least a little, should that bother you?_ No, not Jane. The voice of her conscience was Charlotte, if it was anyone.

In the back of her mind, she thought of a few choice phrases she had overheard from West, but would never dare utter aloud. Her uncle might think she was cut out for this life, but it was a hellish coil that could have a dreadful, lasting impact on her life. Yet perhaps Fitzwilliam was correct, at least, in that she and Darcy must learn to become friends, for Jane and Bingley’s sake, if not their own.

Resolved upon this point, at least, she rested easier, determined to make a fresh start in the morning with regards to the Baron and Lady D’Arcy. She closed her eyes and nestled down into her pillow, sighing with relief.

Mere moments later, her eyes snapped open as a belated realization filtered its way through her foggy mind. Darcy! He was handsome yes, but what else had she noticed about his face? Her eyes widened. “His skin was pale,” she whispered to herself.

Pale skin, very little sun. The last letter Elizabeth had from Georgiana indicated that Mr. Darcy had given his sister no sign of his intention to leave Jamaica. Yet that had been only weeks ago, and here Darcy was in Vienna. Perhaps a letter to Georgiana had gotten lost or delayed?

Fitzwilliam’s suspicions about the D’Arcys and Toulouse sprang to her mind. Had Mr. Darcy been there, himself? Fitzwilliam had not told her so, but then the Colonel didn’t always tell her everything, she knew. She had called him relentless, perhaps even ruthless, and it was the truth. It was, perhaps, the very thing that had kept her from forming an attachment to the Colonel - where she had called Darcy cold, Fitzwilliam had a core of ice. Privately, she wondered if there would ever be a woman who could possibly touch the inner self of Edmund Fitzwilliam. It would not be she.

But that was hardly the question, here. Elizabeth frowned, turning over again. So where the devil had Mr. Darcy been for nearly a year? It was not, she would lay money, Jamaica. The Charlotte conjured by her exhausted worries chastised her roundly for her use of language and reminded her that ladies did not place bets.

Hadn’t Harrington told her that the Baron D’Arcy and his sister had come from Brussels? What could they possibly have had to do with the battles in Southern France the past spring?

They managed to hold on to their lands, too, through all the unrest. Harrington’s words, and beneath them the obvious curiosity of a soldier who smelled an enemy plot.

Hmm. Wasn’t this the interesting puzzle?

Exhaustion finally took over and she set the mystery aside to be addressed in the morning, along with how the devil Fitzwilliam expected her to scrap an acquaintance with the D’Arcys. If she dreamt at all, it was certainly not of a handsome face surrounded by dark curls and a pair of entrancingly warm hazel eyes.

 

******************

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

Darcy tapped his walking stick against his boot as he waited for the crossing to clear. He hadn’t bothered to hire a carriage as the only house he had been able to lease had a shamble for a mews. Demand on decent housing in the city had reached a crescendo, and it was only the efforts of Montilvert that had brought about decent places for both Darcy and his cousins. He had steadfastly refused to board with them, preferring the freedom of his own rooms. The house was an acceptable alternative to letting rooms in a more fashionable area. He had a bit more freedom and privacy in exchange for renting a mount and relying on the city’s hackneys.

He stood across the street from the address given to him on the slip of paper Stoges had passed to him, on a tray with his breakfast roll and coffee. _Today she is at home to callers_ , the familiar handwriting of Edmund read, _and calls begin here around two of the clock. Should you wish to be early and speak privately, her uncle does not normally rouse himself until noon. She is an early riser, despite late evening entertainments._

Darcy had surrendered the attempt to divine Fitzwilliam’s intentions. That he was an intimate friend of Elizabeth and her uncle was obvious, but beyond that Darcy was no longer sure what to make of his observations. It had seemed so blatant the previous evening, but perhaps that had been merely the result of his fears and jealousy? This encouraging note had given his assumptions pause.

It had seemed like an excellent notion at the time; to clear the air and discover where precisely they stood with one another while being guaranteed at least a small amount of privacy. He would, of course, have to introduce himself to the uncle, and it wasn’t quite the thing to call on Elizabeth without that introduction first. She was, after all, under the man’s protection in lieu of her father, though by now she was well of age.

He had already donned his overcoat and hat before this possible objection had made itself clear in his thoughts. Hang him for a fool, he thought, but his footman had already hailed a hackney. His desire to see her, to ensure that it had not all been some fantasy brought about by his own longing, outweighed any other considerations.

Darcy took a deep breath, and plunged into the crossing as though it was an ocean that separated him from Elizabeth Bennet’s parlor.

 

*****************

 

Elizabeth sat by the fire in the morning room, enveloped in her favorite paisley shawl with a steaming cup of coffee at her lips. By heaven, the coffee in Vienna was incredible! How was she to survive mornings in England without it? What they had always served in the mornings and at entertainments seemed a pale imitation to how it was prepared here. She would have to learn its secrets, she vowed.

She chuckled at the image of her mother informing all her guests that they were being served coffee especially from Vienna, and was that not a fine thing? It would indeed please Mama, so perhaps she would make the effort.

Truly, she ought to write to her mother and inform her that her lessons of setting a good table had served Elizabeth well. Mrs. Bennet would be ever so pleased to think that she had an influence, however slight, upon Vienna. Elizabeth did not, she realized, often give her mother enough credit where credit was due.

The knocker sounded, and she set down her coffee cup, arranging herself into a more suitable position and less of a casual slouch. It was typical of one of her soldier friends to call early. If not Fitzwilliam, it was probably Harrington or West. Ogleby, of course, often took himself off to his large family in the mornings after being released from duties. She usually sat with one of the gentlemen and reviewed information after a large entertainment such as the previous evening’s party, before her uncle would join them with his own gathered intelligence. Fitzwilliam would then take anything pertinent to Castlereagh.

Except it wasn’t one of the soldiers that was announced, but Mr. Darcy that appeared behind the butler, looking unfairly handsome in simple buckskin trousers, polished top boots, and a bottle green coat. It picked out the green in his eyes, she noted.  “Thank you, Partridge,” she said, once recovered from surprise. “You may leave the door open. The coffee is still fresh, but I shall ring if we require a new pot.”

The butler, well inured to the young miss entertaining gentlemen callers without a chaperone, left without batting so much as an eyelash. She ought maybe to have called for Maisie, her maid, but perhaps it was best if they could speak in privacy.

She realized then that they had been staring at each other, the memory of the last time they were alone heavy in the air. She flushed. “Mr. Darcy, please, join me here by the fire and have a seat,” she gestured to the chair opposite hers, “it is rather cold this morning. May I pour you a cup of coffee, sir?”

He visibly relaxed at her amiable tone, and accepted gratefully. A less uncomfortable silence reigned for a few minutes while they each settled in with their drinks. Elizabeth struggled with what, precisely to say, but didn’t care to make polite conversation merely for the sake of it. They would have little time before her uncle came downstairs, as undoubtedly he had been informed of Mr. Darcy’s presence by the staff.

Darcy set aside his coffee cup and caught her eye, then looked away, his gaze diverted to the fire screen. “Miss Bennet,” he began, “I know this is rather improper, my calling upon you so early and privately.”

“Propriety has not been an object of consideration previously,” Elizabeth replied before realizing the words had escaped her mouth. She winced at how it must have sounded. “Oh, I am sorry, I did not mean that as an insult, ‘twas badly said. I merely meant that perhaps we need not stand on ceremony, Mr. Darcy.”

Elizabeth risked a glance at him, and noticed that far from looking offended, amusement was evident in his expression. “Perhaps you are correct, Miss Bennet. In that case, I wish to tender a very earnest apology for my behavior that April in Kent. It was abominable, and I cannot but look at my insulting words with utter remorse for how they affected you.”

She shook her head, having waited so long to offer a similar apology and now offered the chance to unburden her conscience. “No, sir, I will not let you shoulder all of the blame. I was careless of how I might wound you with my response, and in fact, I do think wounding you was my intention. I did not like the truths you spoke to me, and I was determined to think most ill of you. I have reproached myself for my conduct, and have wanted to make some amends for having doubted your word, and by extension, your honor.”

He sat forward and casually leaned his elbows upon his knees, clasping his hands and peering at her intently. It was a different man that sat across from her now than had visited her in her cousin’s house nearly two years ago. He was much altered. Or perhaps more comfortable with himself? He was far more at ease with her than he had ever evidenced before.

“Whether or not they were truths does not excuse the harshness and unfairness of their having been spoken. But it will not serve to take up the morning arguing who is in possession of the greater part of the blame. Perhaps then,” he said, “we might forgive the past? I cannot want to forget it, for it was a valuable lesson to me in how my conduct had grown spoiled and careless…”

“Sir, I don’t - “ she began to protest, but he held up a hand.

“No, ‘tis true, and you saw it rightly enough. I had not.” He smiled at her, and she found the impact of it upon her senses surprising. Even then, during that passionate and ill-fated declaration, he had been ever serious. She had never seen him smile so. “We both of us were not without fault in that exchange, I will grant you, but I intend to learn from my past mistakes in order to better my future.”

Elizabeth looked down at her hands. “That is perhaps a more practical philosophy than my own, which is to only think of the past when its remembrance gives pleasure.”

His smile widened. “That is no less a philosophy than I would expect from you. You are not a creature given towards melancholy. It would ruin that smooth brow.”

She met his smile with an archly raised eyebrow and pink cheeks. “Mr. Darcy, I believe you tease.”

“I believe I do.” She stared at him in disbelief, and the smile became a chuckle. “I have much to atone for, if this is an indication of my past behavior,” he admitted. “May we cry friends, Miss Bennet, and begin again?”

Her lip twitched. “I am afraid that is impossible.” When his smile faded, she offered him a bright one of her own. “You see, we would have to have someone introduce us, which would elevate this meeting from the slightly improper to the shockingly inappropriate, as we would have become strangers to one another. I think, perhaps, we might renew an acquaintance, rather than begin one from the start.” She held out her hand.

The smile he offered now was very different, and the look in his eyes as he took her hand shot heat through her senses. Too late she realized that her hand was bare, as was his, and the sensation of his warm fingers curled around her own was heady enough before he decided to brush her knuckles with his lips. She ought to admonish him that fashionable gentlemen did not truly kiss a lady’s hand any longer, but she was driven speechless by the effect of such a simple gesture.

He released her fingers, the warm expression still lingering in his eyes. “I look forward to such a renewal,” he said softly. “For now, though, I ought to take my leave. I shall call upon your uncle this afternoon to introduce myself and hope that he will forgive this little impropriety.”

“He shall,” she assured him. “I will explain to him that we had a quarrel the last time we met and that you wished to seek amends and ensure that your acquaintance was still welcome. He is familiar enough with my temper that such would not surprise him.”

“And is it still welcome, then, my acquaintance?” he teased.

She shrugged an elegant shoulder. “A lady does so like to be absolved of any true wrongdoing, and apologies should be tendered as such. I shall tell my uncle your words were very persuasive, sir.” Elizabeth offered him a teasing smile.

Her smile was returned, and she found herself thinking of ways to make him smile more often in conversation, for he was even more handsome when he did so. “It gladdens me that my words bear weight with you, Miss Bennet,” Darcy replied.

They rose and he took her hand again to salute as he left, leaving her senses once more reeling. “Would that they continue to do so,” he said softly, almost too softly to hear. Perhaps he had not meant them for her ears.

The room seemed somehow darker and colder without his presence. How odd.

 

****************************

 

True to his word, Darcy returned in the afternoon, during proper visiting hours, to introduce himself to Sir Edward Gardiner. He had meant it to be a mere formality, but they found their mutual society much to their liking, and spent nearly half an hour closeted in Sir Edward’s study, speaking animatedly of trout fishing, the East India Company, the uncertain future of the West Indies, and the trade negotiations with China.

Sir Edward was a genial man with a wit that while as sharp as that of his niece, was not as unkind or dry as that of Mr. Bennet. He had not a trace of his sister’s silliness, though Darcy understood Sir Edward to be the younger sibling by a goodly number of years to Mrs. Bennet. There was some resemblance between siblings about the eyes and nose, which reminded him rather more of Jane Bennet (or Jane Bingley, as he should really accustom himself to thinking) than Elizabeth, who had inherited her gray-blue eyes and a rather sharper profile from her father. Their coloring was similar, however, and the elegant brow and open smile proclaimed uncle and niece to be clear blood relatives. The cadence of their speech was also remarkably similar, indicating to Darcy’s mind that much of Elizabeth’s polished ways came from this man and his wife, though they had not subdued that spirit and fire that had drawn Darcy to her in the first place.

By the end of the conversation, Darcy felt sure that he had given more information than he had received, but Sir Edward  was such an amiable man that he could not resent it. Besides, they were allies, to his way of thinking. Both of them found themselves in Vienna because they had chosen to dance to Castlereagh’s selected tune; a subject which neither of them had broached, and yet of which Darcy felt Sir Edward to be fully aware.

When Sir Edward pointed out that they really ought to join his niece and do battle with the horde of gossiping visitors, Darcy did not demure. They entered the parlor, larger and more formal than the cozy little room in which Elizabeth had been nestled that morning. He had thought her beautiful then, in a simple wool dress of blue, with the fetching white fichu at her neck and a paisley shawl wrapped around her shoulders, hair pinned loosely at the base of her neck. Now she seemed to shine like a polished gem, effortlessly dominating the room in her understated elegance amid the overstuffed gloss of the other women.

Her hair was more formally arranged now, revealing a longer length of pale neck, and she was deep in animated discussion in a faltering but mostly fluent French with a few ladies whose accents gave them Russian identities. From what little he knew of the Russian tongue, it was no wonder their court spoke French as an alternative. Diamonds the size of a ha’penny dangled from the one woman’s ears, contrasting with the simple pearls that dropped so delicately from Elizabeth’s. He remembered those earrings; he had watched them with great fascination one evening at Netherfield while she had been engaged in a verbal battle of wits with an equally over-dressed Caroline Bingley.

Darcy studied Elizabeth surreptitiously while exchanging greetings with Major Harrington and receiving introductions to a Captain West and Colonel Ogleby. Elizabeth wore a taffeta gown of a dusty rose color that he had never seen before (though that was hardly surprising, once he realized just how long it truly had been since they’d last met), but the fichu was the same lace one of the morning. It graced her generous figure - which he should cease staring at immediately if he wanted to maintain any pretense of being a gentleman. Reluctantly, he turned his attention to the soldiers’ conversation, which seemed to be settled on humorous anecdotes of Colonel Ogleby’s horde of relatives.

Soon enough he found himself genuinely engaged in the conversation, after having recollected a Miss Anastasia Ogleby being introduced to him at Almack’s one evening. As he related that he remembered her to be quite withdrawn and quiet, the remark elicited a cough of suppressed laughter from Ogleby, who assured him that his sister was a hoyden and a veritable terror, and that Darcy should count himself lucky that she had already formed a tendre for another gentleman - to whom she was now happily wed. As Ogleby related the tale of that rocky courtship, Darcy was utterly amused by the man’s obvious skill in relating a story, so much so that he found himself laughing along and being on the whole far more sociable and at ease than he’d expected.

He glanced at the clock, and knew he should make his departure within the bounds of politeness, but he regretted the lack of another opportunity to speak to Elizabeth. Their morning meeting had held such unexpected promise! Fool he might be, but for the first time in two long years, he began to feel a hum of hope and optimism, and he was loathe to relinquish it.

Sir Edward appeared at his elbow. “Most of our visitors will be leaving shortly. We plan a light repast for our close friends after calling hours. Do stay, if you have no other plans.” The older man gave him a shrewd look, glancing every so slightly at where Elizabeth was attempting to learn a few Russian phrases and failing humorously, to judge from the muffled laughter. “I understand from Lizzy that you are Colonel Fitzwilliam’s cousin. He generally joins us in the afternoon, and I feel certain he will arrive soon.”

“I have no other plans, sir. I would be delighted to accept your hospitality.”

  
**************************  
  


Colonel Edmund Fitzwilliam managed to arrive near the end of Sir Edward’s at home calling hours, and was surprised but pleased to find Darcy still there. He glanced between Elizabeth and Darcy, and the two seemed at ease with one another’s presence, which was excellent progress for the work of a mere morning. Edmund had feared the need to take an actual goad to his cousin.

Ogleby, Harrington, and West were all still present as well, which was excellent. Harrington was a sharp - and distrustful - sort of fellow, and gaining his trust on Darcy’s behalf was essential. Edmund held many strings in his hands at the moment, and it would take the utmost care to pull them correctly and not create further entanglements.

Elizabeth Bennet appeared at his elbow with a cup of the strong bohea tea he preferred and he sighed in exaggerated gratitude, which elicited the giggle he expected. “You are a blessing, Miss Bennet.”

She had just seen out the last of the callers, he noticed, and it was now himself, Darcy, Sir Edward, and the three other soldiers, all of whom had arranged themselves comfortably on Sir Edward’s furniture. All except for Darcy, who stood to one side of the mantel, as Miss Bennet was still on her feet and Darcy did have excellent manners. “What a bunch of rag-mannered louts you lot are,” Edmund commented to his comrades, who roundly ignored him.

“I am not surprised at their exhaustion,” Elizabeth commented drily, “as one and all were required to shepherd at least three Ogleby girls each, and you do know how they love to dance.” She arranged herself in the blue striped armchair, which was curiously the best chair in the room suited to set off the rose color of her dress. He would suspect her of cunning, but knew enough to know that it was simply her favorite chair. It had caught Darcy’s eye as he sat down across from her, unsurprisingly. She did present a pretty picture, Edmund would admit.

“On the subject of exhaustion,” Harrington commented, “how is Fightin’ Charlie today?”

“Lud,” Edmund drawled, “that man will be the death of me.”

A snicker of laughter drew eyes towards Elizabeth, who cleared her throat and apologized. “Oh, I know I should be shocked by the man’s behavior, but truly, I have never seen a grown man, and a gentleman at that, behave quite so abominably. The sheer absurdity of it; turning up at a ball utterly disguised and with not one but two...well, I’m certain you all know precisely what sort of woman I refer to without my having to spell it out.”

Darcy’s eyebrows had climbed. “What is this, now?”

Elizabeth turned her laughing gaze to him. “Oh, Mr. Darcy, you departed early with your cousins and missed all the excitement of the Lord Stewart’s arrival!”

“Heavens,” Darcy murmured. "That man?"

Fitzwilliam laughed outright. “Oh, but you must hear Miss Bennet’s tale, cousin. For you see, dear Charlie arrived just as she and Sir Edward were departing.”

“You handled yourself with excellence, my dear,” Sir Edward supplied. “I shan’t be surprised if Lord Castlereagh forces Lord Stewart to tender some sort of apology, though given the state of the man, I’d be quite shocked if he recalled the incident at all.”

Darcy looked alarmed by this point, Edmund noted with amusement, but Elizabeth waved a dismissive hand. “Truly, it was nothing so terrible as you might be imagining, Mr. Darcy. Lord Stewart merely arrived as my uncle and I were leaving, and took the notion into his head that it would be an excellent idea to introduce me to his...companions. I merely depressed the notion." 

A chorus of outright laughter greeted this masterful understatement, and even Darcy looked highly entertained. “Indeed, Miss Bennet,” Darcy drawled, “having witnessed your even temper, I am certain you handled the situation with utmost dignity and fortitude.” He turned towards her uncle, “I seem to recall a rather fine cut-glass vase in Lady Alltwyth’s entry hall. Should you be in need of offering replacement, Sir Edward, I have the direction of an excellent glass-blower.”

At that, even Edmund lost control of his mirth and had to set aside his coffee before he disgraced himself by spilling it upon his trousers. Before he could recover, Elizabeth had placed a hand upon her breast in mock distress and cried, “A hit, sir! A direct hit! Well,” she amended after a moment’s recovery for all, “nearly a direct hit. I did not throw the vase, but it was thrown, and we have already offered a replacement which was refused on the grounds that it truly ought to be Lord Stewart to offer restitution for the antics of his...oh, dear, I am running short of polite euphemisms. Guests? Friends?”

Sir Edward cleared his throat with a harrumph. “There is no reason why you should even know any, my dear. As for Lord Stewart…”

“He shall make restitution and deliver a handsome apology,” Edmund affirmed gruffly. “I intend to see to it. After my timely interruption last evening, I have been given the unenviable task of keeping the man in line.” He shook his head. “Truly, I have not know him to behave so.”

Indeed, what could have possessed a man of Lord Stewart’s position and breeding to introduce a lady such as Elizabeth Bennet to his lightskirt - his _two_ lightskirts - of all things? She had handled it with dignity and aplomb, letting the good man know that his wits had gone begging in the politest way possible. The second of the two Cyprians had taken umbrage. Forcefully. Which was when Sir Edward had pulled his niece to the carriage and Colonel Fitzwilliam had hauled Charlie and his women into the anteroom before they could cause any more damage.

Sir Edward shrugged a shoulder. “It cannot be easy for you gentlemen soldiers, this war’s end. It has been your vocation, and without it you are faced the unenviable task of what to do next.”

“Sell out and marry, I suppose,” Ogleby mused. Easy for Frederick to say, Edmund thought. His father was the Earl of Rotheshire, with vast holdings in Wales and Ireland with which to provide for his equally vast progeny. Freddy could pick a bride at his leisure.

He did notice that none of the men’s eyes, save Darcy’s, strayed towards Elizabeth at the mention of marriage. The other three had assumed an understanding between Edmund and the handsome Miss Bennet, which had suited him quite nicely as it kept the field open for Darcy, the obtuse idiot. Besides, Captain West had an interest in a girl he’d met at his sister’s ball two years ago. It was quite the little secret romance, and West was too honorable to enter into a flirtation with one woman when another waited for him at home.

Edmund frowned. “He lost his wife, when we were in Spain. Unexpectedly, I understand. He was devastated; they were quite devoted. Without the fighting to turn to as relief, I believe the grief catches him up.”

Darcy appeared thoughtful, but said nothing. Edmund fancied he knew the nature of his cousin’s thoughts, as Darcy was intimately acquainted with heavy grief from the unexpected deaths of both his parents. Each had come as a separate shock, and after each Darcy had become that much more withdrawn and quiet. While a far less destructive path than the one currently occupied by the Lord Charles Stewart, it had not been without its repercussions.

The conversation had turned to family while Edmund had been woolgathering. “My sister is due to arrive shortly,” Major Harrington said, “along with my aunt and some school friend or another of hers as a traveling companion. Sophia is a social creature and my aunt is far more retiring of nature. I confess surprise that it is only one other young lady traveling with her and not a dozen.”

“Why is it,” West observed, “that young ladies move in herds? Flocks, I suppose is more apt with all those feathers.”

Elizabeth feigned surprise. “Why, Captain, I am astonished you do not know! It is so that we might gossip, and avoid the society of those distasteful to us. There is nothing so useful as a friend who will kindly trod on the hem of your dress to prevent your having to dance with an unwanted partner.”

While the soldiers all debated amongst themselves whether or not they had been a victim of this stratagem, Edmund caught the amused look Darcy tossed at Elizabeth, who offered a private half-smile back to him. “Is that how you avoided the second set with Collins during Bingley’s ball?” Darcy murmured, barely loud enough for Edmund to hear. “It took an age to find you.”

Her smile widened. “You have caught me out, sir. Charlotte was ever so obliging, though in retrospect, I can see she had motivations of her own. Fortunately, the Netherfield maid in the retiring room was quick with the needle, or I would have missed our set as well.”

Darcy’s eyebrow arched. “Hmm. I am sure that was coincidence.”

She blushed and Edmund smiled to himself. Rarely had anyone been able to put Elizabeth Bennet to the blush. Well done, Darcy.

“I would like to claim it to the contrary, Mr. Darcy, but I cannot. I shall merely apologize once more.”

“Your apology I won’t accept, Miss Bennet. We have established our renewed acquaintance quite firmly, and I believe that has dispensed with the need for further apologies.” Oh, indeed, had they? That was excellent news. “I do believe, however, that it is within your power to grant restitution.”

Was Darcy teasing? What an intriguing development! Edmund could foresee so much potential amusement at his cousin’s expense.

Elizabeth had cocked her head to one side, studying Darcy’s deceptively bland expression. “I take it you refer to the Princess Olga Mariyevna’s ball tomorrow night? Which set shall I save for you? I promise I will not run off to tend a hem.”

“I shall take care not to trod upon your feet. Might I enquire if your supper set is free?”

“It is.” Elizabeth paused. “The princess is fond of the waltz, you know.”

Darcy kept his expression neutral, but Edmund noted the gleam in his eyes during the quick glance Darcy threw at him. “Yes, I had heard.” Ha, so that waltz _had_ rattled the man’s senses. He had feared the ability to shake Darcy from complacency when his cousin had at first refused to call up on Elizabeth, but the waltz of all things - and especially when she danced it so beautifully - could do it. From the moment Edmund had taken Elizabeth’s arm, he’d known it would drive Darcy near insane with envy.

Oh, but never jealousy. Darcy loved the both of them far too much for that, and his poor martyred nature would consider it only honorable to retreat from the field of battle and leave the way clear for Edmund. Which was, of course, precisely why Edmund had sent round the note to Darcy this morning. He would be so relieved to learn that Edmund had no intention to fix an interest with Elizabeth that he would be spurred to action.

Maybe, Edmund thought, he should try for the Home Office when–shudder to think–he finally sold out of the army. He did tend to prefer being in command of affairs.

Partridge discreetly informed Sir Edward that the meal was ready, and as a group they sauntered into the informal dining room, ignoring protocol. Darcy extended his arm to Elizabeth, which let the Colonel fall back to speak to Sir Edward.

“How was your evening, sir?” he inquired.

Sir Edward smiled. “Enlightening. I believe we shall see further developments with Murat in Naples.”

They went in to the meal discussing the “Dandy King” of Naples, though the man was every bit as dangerous a cavalry commander as Lord Stewart. Murat had wedded the youngest sister of Bonaparte’s, and he still possessed an important foothold in the region’s politics.

After the meal and a lively discussion, the group of allies broke apart in order to prepare themselves for the onslaught of evening entertainments. Darcy and Fitzwilliam shared a carriage, one gazing thoughtfully out of the window while the other sprawled disgracefully across the squabs. “Well?” queried the Colonel.

Darcy turned to level a look at him. “You are a devil to understand at times, do you know?”

Edmund shrugged. “What’s to understand? I’m quite fond of the chit, but neither of our affections trespass beyond friendship, and besides, she still has no money.” He used the end of his cane to tip his hat over his eyes. Lord, but he was exhausted. He’d have to sleep away the rest of the afternoon like some antiquated society matron if he were to survive the coming evening. “Nothing has really altered since we last met in Kent, for me at any rate. I digress, however. Allow me to repeat: _well_?”

He could feel, if no longer see, Darcy’s gaze upon him. “Well, what?”

Edmund nudged Darcy’s top-booted shin with the toe of his more fashionable hessian. “You know what.”

“Hmm,” Darcy murmured, and Edmund could hear him shift on the seat. “Well," he said at last, "I do not believe she hates me.”

Despite himself, Edmund started to laugh, though he knew he really ought not. It was a good sign that Darcy felt at ease enough with the situation to swat at him with his own walking stick, which Edmund met with an expert parry, even blinded by his hat. He tipped up the brim ever so slightly and winked at Darcy. “That is good news, old man. Good news, indeed.”

 

*************************

TBC

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

Elizabeth had not exaggerated her social schedule to Jane in her last letter. Through a whirl of calls, one dinner, a salon, and another rout the next day, she had managed to glean a goodly amount of information about the Baron D’Arcy and Lady Juliet. It did not seem so, perhaps, to the outsider, but Sir Edward had taught his niece to pay closer attention to what was not said rather than what was. It was a philosophy that had served him well in his import business, and when he had stumbled by accident into the information trade, it had served him even better.

It was surprising to most that Lady Juliet D’Arcy had not yet been married off. She was a lovely girl, elegant and refined, and possessed of a hearty fortune; some of which had survived the wars and was being restored, and some of which Montilvert would bolster with his own wealth.

...if, of course, that wealth existed, and Lady Juliet’s lack of marriage seemed to imply (to some) that it did not. Of Etienne, little was said. It was not surprising that he had not wed, given his youth (though he was a full three years older than his sister) and that his ancestral lands had yet to be fully restored.

How they had managed to hang on to some of their property was not known. Especially during the upheaval following the first executions - the Terror, as some called it - most of the aristocracy’s lands had been carved up, their possessions sold, their fine houses torn down for kindling or repurposed.

They had not fled to England, which Elizabeth found curious, especially given their English relations in the Darcy family of Derbyshire. That the current Mr. Darcy was on friendly terms with them was not necessarily an indicator of past familial harmony, necessarily, but it was still rather odd. She wondered if she could discover why the family had gone to Brussels and elsewhere on the Continent, but never to England. Or had they gone and then returned to the Continent for some reason? It was only certain that they had not been raised in England at Pemberley, and at a time when many were accepting and sheltering their French relatives from the revolution’s blades.

Etienne D’Arcy’s dark good looks and mysterious air had set a few maidenly hearts a flutter, and had drawn some less than maidenly eyes, if Elizabeth gauged conversation correctly. The young baron kept himself mostly to himself, much like his English cousin, though he did have a few friends with whom he played cards (always low stakes) and rode. They had some contact with their stepfather, the Comte de Montilvert, but not as much as one might expect. It was clear the young baron was not part of the Comte’s political camp, or anyone else’s. He and his sister were dismissed as pretty ornaments that Montilvert would marry off to his benefit when it would gain him the most.

She had observed them at the salon Viennese matron Lady Esterhaus had held the previous evening. Mr. Darcy was elsewhere, occupied somehow by Colonel Fitzwilliam to judge by the note the colonel had sent her. He’d asked her to observe the cousins, gain an opinion of them when they were not with Darcy or himself. Elizabeth felt gratified, she supposed, for the colonel’s trust in her opinion, though she could not like this feeling of subterfuge.

Yet subterfuge was the fuel of Vienna, and so she observed. They were quiet for the most part, mostly spoke to each other, though she’d watched as Major Harrington greeted them and then introduced Colonel Ogleby, who was escorting one of his nieces, a pretty thing with pert green eyes and copper-colored hair. Baron D’Arcy had even smiled at her, and asked her questions about playing the violin. It appeared he was fond of the cello, and his sister was not inclined towards music.

Overall, Etienne D’Arcy appeared merely young and unsure of himself. It was Lady Juliet’s serenity that troubled Elizabeth, for it wasn’t like the quiet fortitude of Jane or even the rather lonely shyness of Georgiana Darcy. There was something altogether forlorn in manner of Lady Juliet, as though she were a puppet on stage and only acting when she must react to those around her. She was more than quiet, she was withdrawn, living, it seemed to Elizabeth, mostly inside of her own head.

Ogleby hadn’t been able to take his eyes off of her, poor man. That was certainly not a match that would be sanctioned by the Comte. His stepdaughter could fetch him a much higher price than the third son of an Irish earl whom, as a general rule, far preferred to engage in business than politics.

My, how cynical she had become, Elizabeth mused. It was not a flattering trait. She would become too much like her dear papa, and become frustrated with the lot of all society, retreating into her library with her books and port and emerging only to provide caustic comments to her family. She laughed to herself as she mulled over her wardrobe for Princess Mariyevna’s ball, and then felt guilty. It had been a few months now since she had last seen her father, and she was astonished to realize that she did not regret the absence from her family, except for Jane. But then Jane was very occupied with her new husband and home, just as she should. She had not needed a dissatisfied Elizabeth on her hands.

Who would have anticipated this journey to present such an excitement? And, perhaps, she thought as she compared a blue satin to a pink, such danger. She needed to feel fortified, looking her best. It was armor to a woman, she had discovered, to look one’s very best. Luckily, through her uncle’s business and judicious application of her own taste, she had managed to do so within a reasonable budget. As she reflected ruefully on her own nearly non-existent dowry, she realized it was a skill that would serve her well for the rest of her life, most likely.

Such thoughts brought her round to the enigmatic Mr. Darcy one more, and she held up the next choice in her wardrobe. It was a simple pale gold silk, but with a green net layer worked over top of the silk, fastened to the bodice with a gold silk ribbon, which also graced the neckline. Small bunches of gold flowers were worked into the hem of the netting, and it was spotted throughout with gold thread, which would catch the candlelight well.

She had some ribbon of the same shade to work into her hair, and this dress did have the most daring neckline. Her aunt had lent her a few jewels for formal affairs, and there was an emerald and topaz set that would look quite nice with this dress. Though she would pair the necklace with the pearl earrings, she thought. The emerald ear bobs were a little too much for her taste. The necklace spoke for itself with its simple and delicate wreath design. Overall, she could be well-satisfied with her appearance. She may not have Jane’s beauty, but she was not an antidote.

After all, Mr. Darcy had found her attractive, and by all indications still did. She rang for Maisie and sat down at her vanity. That Darcy had bespoken a dance had nothing to do with her choice of gown. She simply wished to do her uncle and her own reputation credit, that was all. Yes, there was the errant thought as she made her selection that the gown would compliment the color of his eyes, but that was just sheer observation. He did rather have lovely hazel eyes that shifted from green to blue depending on his clothing, shot through with specks of golden brown, but that had nothing to do with her choice. She had selected it because the colors sat well upon her warmer complexion.

Maisie was humming with self-satisfaction as she put the finishing touches upon Elizabeth’s toilet an hour later. “You look a treat, miss,” the girl said, offering a curtsey before holding the dressing room door open for Elizabeth, who was occupied with pulling on her white satin gloves.

“Thanks to your skill, Maisie. Have a good evening, and do not wait up for me. I can see for myself when I return.” She could see the doubtful look in the maid’s expression as she walked past, and knew that Maisie would indeed be awake and waiting, just as she always was.

Voices drifted up from the parlor, and she heard Colonel Fitzwilliam’s laugh followed by another masculine voice that she recognized almost immediately as belonging to Mr. Darcy. They heard her footsteps on the stairs and entered the hall to gather their coats and hats. In a very gratifying manner, all three men stopped to stare at her as she made her way down the staircase. How very obliging they were, to make her feel like a duchess making a grand entrance! She could not help the wide smile that spread across her countenance.

She accepted her uncle’s hand at the foot of the staircase. “You look lovely, dear girl.”

“Thank you, Uncle, that is most kind. My aunt’s emeralds do the trick nicely.”

“The emeralds are merely gilding, Miss Bennet,” the Colonel said. “It is your elegant neck that does them justice.” He bowed over her hand and smiled in greeting. Elizabeth could see the gleam of appreciation in his eyes, but then it was the same for every girl he thought pretty, and she knew well not to misinterpret it.

Mr. Darcy, however, had barely moved from where he had stopped to watch her descent. His eyes had not left her, and she could feel his gaze upon her skin as though it left a physical trace in its wake. “Miss Bennet,” he said softly in greeting.

“Mr. Darcy,” she replied, hardly daring to look at him for fear she would be put to an extremely embarrassing blush. He had made no comment upon her appearance, but then, he had not needed to do so. The effect of his look made a far more eloquent impression upon her senses, and she found it suddenly difficult to breathe in a normal fashion.

Polite conversation was carried by her uncle and the Colonel, with occasional contributions from Elizabeth or Mr. Darcy, but they both were silent, for the most part. In the relative safety of the carriage, where her face could be partially hidden by the shadows cast by street lamps, she finally risked a glance at Darcy, who was looking studiously out of the window into the dark night.

That he did justice to full, formal dress she knew from Netherfield, though she hadn’t wanted to admit it at the time. There was no padding for his shins or shoulders; his form was all that was masculine and did his tailor exquisite justice. The dark tones of fashion set by Beau Brummell and his ilk suited him, though he did not carry it to the extremes that Bingley sometimes did. Darcy’s buttons were a reasonable size and his collar points did not appear ready to put out his eyesight. His waistcoat was a simple gray silk shot through with gold and - she was gratified to notice - green thread. Or at least thread that looked green in the lamp light.

He did tend to prefer green, now that she pondered it, which brought about the question to her mind - had she chosen the present gown she wore because some part of her mind knew he preferred the color? Elizabeth did not think herself that devious, but then she hadn’t thought to find herself engaging in any of her current activities, either.

 _Is it not possible_ , wondered the small voice in her thoughts that sounded like Charlotte Collins, _that you picked a color Mr. Darcy prefers in order to please him? Yes, it pleases you as well, but are the two to forever be mutually exclusive?_

Her lip twitched and she smiled a secret half-smile to herself. One day, perhaps, she would tell Charlotte that, though so much distance lay between them, the voice of their friendship had stood strong.

  
*************************  
  


Though Darcy had begun to feel less uncomfortable in large gatherings, he had never before enjoyed a ball to the degree that he found himself anticipating the present evening. It did, he had to admit, rely completely upon the company with which he had surrounded himself.

They had arrived at the Hofburg, for the ball was to be held in the Redoutensaele, and Miss Bennet had been greeted almost immediately by the Dowager Countess Blackmore, an older matron with a grand Scottish burr and a wicked sense of humor that had taken Elizabeth under her wing. Lady Isobel served as a sort of chaperone at events and assisted Elizabeth in hosting the larger events for Sir Edward, to lend a bit of countenance, Elizabeth explained.

The two women were evidently fond of each other, and Lady Isobel took an instant liking to Darcy, to his relief. He did not doubt she could make difficulties for anyone of whom she did not approve. She might have been old enough to be Elizabeth’s grandmother, but there was a core of iron in her spine and her sharp wit cracked like a whip.

The grandeur of the Hofburg was not lost even on Darcy, who was no stranger to the opulence of the bon ton and British court. This, however, was the seat of the Austrian Empire, and the House of Habsburg had held the Austrian throne longer than all the Houses of the tempestuous British crown since the Plantagenets first set foot on English soil. _Womb of kings, indeed,_ he reflected.

He caught Elizabeth’s eye and she smiled as he held out his arm for Lady Isobel out of deference. That fine lady accepted readily, commenting on the agreeableness of being escorted by a handsome young man. “A fine, strapping lad,” she said approvingly, and Elizabeth barely held back a giggle as she took the Colonel’s arm. Darcy threw her a stern look over Lady Isobel’s feathered turban, which only made her laugh more.

They entered into the main chamber that would host the better part of the dancing. He had never seen so many people together in one building in his life! The count of attendees must border the thousands, if even the strata occupied by himself and Sir Edward were to be included. They neither of them were primary movers in politics nor part of the official delegation, after all.

The fact that he was now placing himself on the same footing as Elizabeth Bennet’s tradesman uncle when he had so vehemently abhorred such a connection only two years prior was further proof of his arrogance and conceit. Sir Edward was all that was admirable, and if he had not been a knight, then he still would have been a pleasing acquaintance.

Sir Edward escorted Lady Isobel to a comfortable seat, laughing pleasantly with her in conversation. Darcy took the opportunity to look around the room, marveling inwardly at the ease with which such a large event was managed. “Pity, isn’t it,” Elizabeth said softly at his elbow, “that the committee in charge of entertainments should not be in charge of the entirety of the Congress. We might have been home in November.”

If that were so, how long would it have been until we met again? He did not say it, but by her expression, he knew she had understood his thoughts.

Music reached their ears, and Darcy raised an eyebrow. “You are not dancing, Miss Bennet.”

“Mr. Darcy, no one has bespoken my first set, and at the moment, I believe there are more ladies than gentlemen.” She smiled. “I am content to wait for my next partner here.”

“Well, we cannot have that, can we? You should begin the evening as you mean to go on.” He bowed his head politely. “Miss Bennet, would you do me the honor of this quadrille?”

She covered her momentary surprise quickly, he noted, and accepted gracefully. They took their positions in the next convenient set of eight. As the third couple, they stood beside each other while the first and second exchanged places and executed the complicated footwork of the dance.

“I have not complimented you upon your appearance this evening, it was remiss of me. Please allow me to tell you how absolutely enchanting you are.” It was said earnestly. Darcy had little of the flirt about him, beyond a mild teasing. He had never been as skilled in the art of flattery as others. She thanked him in a voice barely above a whisper, looking anywhere but directly at him.

As they moved into the figure of the dance, he noticed that a very pleasing blush had spread across her cheeks and the expanse of skin beneath the emerald necklace. The jewels did become her, but privately he thought sapphires would be more appealing with her eyes. There was quite a nice sapphire and diamond set sitting in the safe at Pemberley, though he should not give himself license toward such thoughts again, not so soon.

 _Perhaps_ , came the shadowed thought, _not ever_.

They changed couples and then crossed back to each other, and he took her hand in his gently and reverently, conscious that apart from their upcoming supper dance, this was one of the few touches he could ever be assured of receiving. It wasn’t until she looked at him with a questioning countenance that he realized how somber he had become. “You are quiet, sir,” she said softly, concerned.

She frowned slightly, and he smiled at her, wanting to smooth that elegant brow free of worry. “Well, I would talk of books, but I have been informed that no one speaks of books in a ballroom.”

As he hoped, she laughed lightly, the sound like pleasant rain on a parched earth. “Indeed, sir, anything but books.”

“In that case, Miss Bennet, do you remark upon the number of couples in the set?”

  
***********************  
  


There had been so much dancing, and with such a crowd that Elizabeth had to be careful to consume more lemonade than she did wine, or she might have found herself indisposed. She far preferred to have a clear head on her shoulders than one muddled with drink. It had been a most pleasant evening thus far, from its very first invitation to dance a quadrille with Mr. Darcy.

After the initial silence, their conversation had been light and amusing, and she had relished the chance to cross verbal swords without animosity. When they had first met and she had spent those days at Netherfield Park, there was always between them the assumption - on her part - that he did not approve of her. It had colored his conversation, and turned it from amusing to frustrating as she grew increasingly defensive.

This time, it was far more pleasurable as a meeting of equal minds. She had shared with him anecdotes from her time so far in Vienna, and he had laughed at the appropriate places, and made the correct inquiries in others. He did not volunteer any information about Jamaica, and she had not asked, not yet. It had not felt the right time to her, nor the right place, to question him on the subject, even teasingly. There was something hidden there, and she would do far better to reveal it in private.

Besides, if she were honest with herself, she was still reeling from his compliment. She had heard men pour the butter boat over Jane’s head far too often, and had her own experiences with the deceitful Mr. Wickham to keep her from falling prey to false flattery. The other gentlemen’s compliments were kind and polite, and Colonel Fitzwilliam’s effusions simply made her laugh. Yet when Darcy paid her one genuine, elegantly phrased compliment, she had felt nearly unequal to the task of responding.

He had wanted to wed her! She seldom thought about that day in Kent, as it brought only the painful reminder of her own abominable behavior and his insults. Behind the insults, however, and beneath the ineptly worded proposal, there remained the truth that she could not deny. Mr. Darcy had wanted to marry her, Elizabeth Bennet, for love, and only love. He had wanted her, desired her enough to overcome all of his objections, whether they were without reason or not.

That he still felt something for her was clear, but Elizabeth knew that no man, even one with far less reason to be proud than Mr. Darcy, would renew sentiments toward a woman who had soundly rejected him. While she could not regret her answer, as she could only have answered positively out of the basest greed, she still felt a keen sense of loss. His regard, after all, was surely not what it once was.

Though why she should mourn its loss when she had not wanted it to begin with, she could not understand. Was it sheer vanity? She would have liked to think herself above such.

Or perhaps as her own regard for him grew, she mourned the fact that it had no future beyond friendship?

Heavens. She appropriated a glass of wine from a nearby attendant and took a sip in order to fortify herself at this new revelation. Mr. Darcy had always made an impact upon her senses, she had already realized and admitted that much to herself. Yet now there was no overheard insult at an assembly, no slight or proud behavior to hold between them. It had shielded her heart prior, and now she had no such protection.

Elizabeth consoled herself with the thought that one did not fall in love with a gentleman over the course of two days, but it was an empty thought. If she had any sense at all, she would speak to Colonel Fitzwilliam, let him know that she wanted nought to do with his family and concerns, and then haul herself back to England at the first opportunity, far away from Darcy and the heartbreak she knew would come.

For her heart was in imminent danger, she could feel it. Darcy had shown her an open honesty, and that had far more bewitching charm to it than any honeyed words and seductive lies could possibly have carried.

She set the empty wine glass aside on the tables provided, and joined Lady Isobel for spell so she could regain her strength. She had purposefully left a set free for just that purpose, and thankfully no one had attempted to fill it. Even her youngest sisters would have been hard pressed to maintain their stamina in such a press.

The image of Kitty and Lydia running rampant in the Hofburg gave her enough amusement to appear in high spirits to Lady Isobel, but it was with a heavier, uncertain heart that she faced Darcy as he came to claim her hand for the supper set. The announcement rang through the chambers by the master of ceremonies, and it was, as she had anticipated, a waltz.

They were silent as they took up their positions, but not in avoidance. She felt his questioning gaze upon her face, and met it bravely, but neither of them seemed to have adequate words. Darcy’s eyes seemed to rove her face as though memorizing it, and where his hands gently touched her frame, they left her nerves frayed and tingling in their wake. To feel him so close, next to her, opposite her, his hands first clasped with hers and then around her waist and then joined once more with hers as they raised them and circled one another...this was an intimacy that was nearly as intoxicating as the wine that flowed so freely throughout the Redoutensaele.

No amount of prior waltzing, or teasing flirtation, or stern lectures on the morals of rakes and wastrels had ever prepared her for this. The waltz was such a dance that they almost never broke their gaze, and the heat in his look had elevated the temperature of her own blood until she well past the point of blushing. Perhaps it was the wine, but she rashly chose to ignore the past between them; to imagine indeed that they had only met in Vienna, that he was a gentleman with whom she might conceive of a future - a future where she could touch the curve of his cheek, feel his dark curls beneath her fingers, and where she might pull him aside in a darkened alcove for a stolen kiss.

A future where one day, the kiss would be freely given and not stolen. As she placed her hands on one of his broad shoulders, and his arm wound round her waist once more as they were pulled into the more energetic turns of the dance, her breath came more quickly. It could be attributed to the exertion of the dance and the heat in the room, but that was not the case.

She had some idea of the intimacies between a man and woman; one could not remain in ignorance in such a society. While she had knowledge of the mind, however, she had no knowledge of experience, and she had never been so very curious to rectify such a deficiency, always having been curbed in the intent by the threat of reputation.

Yet now, in this moment, with this man, Elizabeth Bennet could have cheerfully torn her reputation to shreds and not spared a moment’s consideration. His arms were gratifyingly solid and strong, his every step was graceful, and his gentleness where he touched her left her skin hungry for a more solid embrace. She found herself wanting to pull at his cravat, untie it and bare the length of his neck to her, so that she might bury her head into the crook of his shoulder and never emerge to face the world again.

Such licentious thoughts! She had not thought herself capable of such, and she must reign herself in. The wine, perhaps, had taken its toll after all.

Too soon, or perhaps not soon enough, the set ended and they were both shaken out of their reverie. Some attendees moved into the room in which refreshments were being served, but in such a large crowd, not everyone intended to take supper. There were light refreshments to be served throughout the evening, after all, and many other banquets and dinners around the city. Some of the politicians and statesmen were gathering in boisterous discussion groups, others took opportunities to take seats at tables, though chairs were in great demand.

“Miss Bennet,” he said, clearly intending to say more, but the words seemed unwilling to come.

“Mr. Darcy,” she replied with a wan smile that conveyed her understanding.

He cleared his throat slightly and looked away before composing himself adequately. Elizabeth felt somewhat gratified that she had not been the only one so affected by the dance. “Would you care for some refreshment? I would be happy to escort you to dinner.”

She shook her head slightly, taking a moment to find her voice. “I am not hungry. I own, I would prefer some air to supper.”

Darcy glanced around them and spied one of the grand window casements that was open, and offered his arm to her. Those that had crowded the window for air earlier had moved in to the other room. She accepted gratefully, in desperate need of the cold winter breeze. She felt aflame from head to toe, though his nearness did nothing to abate that feeling; in fact, quite the opposite.

They stood in companionable silence for a few minutes, watching the crowds disperse and gather into different formations. She had not seen hide nor hair of her uncle, but that was typical once he had passed her off into Lady Isobel’s keeping. He did still seem to know everything that she did in a given evening, so she knew he somehow maintained a watchful eye over his niece’s propriety. How it was accomplished, however, she did not entirely know, though she suspected Ogleby’s private army of relations, many of whom had become close acquaintances, in addition to Lady Isobel (who was herself a distant Ogleby cousin).

It was far safer to watch the crowd than to look again at Mr. Darcy, though she could feel him looking at her. “Are you quite well, Miss Bennet?”

Oh, heavens, if he only knew. It was best he did not, however, given the nature of her highly improper thoughts. “Yes, I thank you, I find I am merely overwhelmed by the heat,” she offered as a weak excuse.

“Indeed,” he murmured, moving fractionally closer to her, but not so close that it would appear improper to an observer. His voice sent a shiver through her, as he laced layers of meaning into one word, raspy with desire and a tenderness that caught the very breath in her throat.

Elizabeth did look at him then, and with a sudden clarity knew that Colonel Fitzwilliam was correct; Darcy was still in love with her. Despite the obvious physical attraction between them, did she truly desire this? She could not want him to love where his love would not be returned; the thought of his pain hurt her terribly. Elizabeth was conscious of an urge to comfort him, to protect him from pain and unhappiness. It was so strong and overwhelming that before she had realized it, her fingers had sought his and wrapped around them. The warmth, even through the layers of silk gloves between them, was undeniable, as was the pleasure and comfort such a simple touch brought to her.

“Oh, heavens,” she whispered, to herself, looking at their entwined fingers, the truth making itself firmly and irrevocably clear. Was this not the night for revelations?

When she lifted her head to his again, there was such an arrested expression on his face, uncertain and full of hope, that it seemed to her that her heart skipped a full minute of beating. He had not released her hand, and she made no effort to pull it free. “Elizabeth,” he said, and again one word seemed to hold a wealth of meaning.

Darcy’s eyes lowered to her lips, and though he could not kiss her here, she could feel his desire to, and in answer, she smiled.

  
************************  
  


Edmund spoke to Ogleby in a soft voice as the two laughed over shared memories of the Peninsula. One might think they would miss soldiering, but Edmund knew they were both far too fond of creature comforts. They might laugh over a failed rabbit hunt and the threat of eating shoe leather now, but at the time, in the heat and dust around Talavera, it had been devastating.

“So,” Ogleby murmured, nodding his head to the left where the grand windows stood, “that is the way the wind blows, is it, old man?”

Fitzwilliam followed his gaze until it rested upon his cousin and Miss Bennet, enjoying a moment of rather intimate solitude by the windows. While they were not strictly engaging in impropriety, they were standing rather close and were smelling of April and May even from this distance. He smiled to himself. Thank heaven, he had at last found the proper anchor to tie Darcy back to England.

There had been a frightful time where Edmund had despaired of such, when Darcy’s anger and disillusionment had been such a terrible sight to behold. Edmund knew that honor was his cousin’s defining trait, and for a bit, at the time, it had seemed as though Darcy’s honor would prevent him from reclaiming his place as an English gentleman. It might have been an unfounded fear, this terrible premonition of losing his cousin, but the colonel would do nearly anything necessary to keep his family together.

It was the only thing he had clung to in those unspeakably violent battles, through injury and deplorable conditions, and the guilt-ridden recollections of faces he had sent to their deaths on the battlefield. His family, his home, his country, everything good about his life as an Englishman, had become his anchor in that tide of anguish; the only thing for which it was worth fighting - and living.

And now he had found such an anchor for his cousin in Miss Elizabeth Bennet, who was lovely and kind, witty and understanding, intelligent and strong-willed, and stolidly, perfectly English. Edmund smiled again. “Yes, I believe it is, indeed.”

****************

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

Darcy cleared his throat, terrified that he was misinterpreting Elizabeth Bennet once again, but also hopeful that he was not. Hopeful? What an inadequate word to describe the feeling that suffused him now, as he gazed at her softly smiling countenance. This tender expression was not one he had witnessed, and it filled him with a glowing warmth, far more precious than the simple heat of desire. Darcy felt as though his whole world pivoted on that one smile.

He was certain she knew that he had wanted so desperately to kiss her, and she had smiled. She had reached for his hand, as though to offer comfort. While she had appeared surprised by her own daring, she had not withdrawn. He still held her hand in his. Could he dare to deem this feeling joy?

This was not the time or place to declare himself, but he could not simply walk away now. “Miss Bennet,” he began, but paused when she shook her head.

“You addressed me as Elizabeth just now,” she interrupted, looking away and blushing again, though it was only a slight tint of pink. “I confess when I hear ‘Miss Bennet’, I still think of Jane. I would be gratified if you would address me by name.”

“Only if you will agree to the same,” he argued, squeezing her fingers gently.

Her lip twitched. “Oh, but that would be too close to your cousin, for your Christian name is Fitzwilliam, is it not? I daresay you should not wish me to confuse the two of you.”

Darcy laughed, and could not help the wide and happy smile that spread across his face. “I daresay. My family shorten it to William, if that would please you. I cannot abide ‘Fitz’.”

“Well, I shall only call you that when I am cross with you, then, William.”

He raised an eyebrow. “And do you anticipate so many occasions, Elizabeth?”

Her countenance grew serious and thoughtful. “That depends, I suppose,” she said at last, “entirely upon you.” Once more, she glanced down at their joined hands, which he still had yet to release. He had certainly displayed his interest in her openly enough to all and sundry, but could not bring himself to regret a moment of it. “Everything does,” she added so quietly that he scarce heard her.

His heart hammered against his chest and he would have swept her into his arms if he could have done so and not had an irate uncle and near half a dozen angry soldiers call him out on his honor. “Elizabeth,” he murmured instead, and she looked up at him. The uncertainty in her face both gratified him and tugged at his heart. That she should feel enough for him to be concerned for its reception could not but please him, but he did not want her to suffer, ever, for any reason that he could easily prevent. “My dearest, loveliest Elizabeth. You may depend upon me, I swear this, now and always. I am steadfast, and my loyalties do not change with ease. Nor do my intentions.”

Elizabeth closed her eyes momentarily and took a deep breath. “I am...most pleased to hear that, William, and yet still somewhat ashamed of how my own have not been as steadfast. Or I should say, of how I was too stubborn to recognize my own wishes.”

Darcy gradually became aware of a few curious glances from passersby. They were standing a trifle too close, and he was holding her for a most improper period of time. Yet couldn’t they understand how blissfully, blindingly happy he was? “This is not the time nor the place to continue this conversation to its natural conclusion, for if I received the answer I most fervently wish to the question I am desperate to ask, I fear I cannot guarantee the safety of your reputation. I will most certainly kiss you, you see.”

Elizabeth was startled into an outright laugh, and she rescued her hand at last, if only to cover her grin and wave him away with mock severity. “Oh, dear! I cannot have that. Not here,” she amended playfully, with a torturous twist of her lips. He swallowed past a suddenly dry throat.

“May I call on you tomorrow morning?”

“Yes,” she answered, “though you should speak to my uncle tonight if you can. He will sleep late tomorrow.” Her skin flushed most enticingly as she realized the implication of her innocent speech. He was half tempted to inquire if Sir Edward was a sound sleeper, but refrained from further embarrassing an innocent.

Darcy was damned if he thought he would get a single wink of sleep. He was about to say something of the kind to her when he noticed her frown. She was looking past him, over his shoulder. “What is it?” he asked. “Elizabeth?” he prompted when she did not answer immediately.

“I am not sure, but your cousin appears ill. Lady Juliet D’Arcy,” she clarified. “Turn calmly, William,” she admonished, reaching out quickly with her arm to stay him when he would have turned, “do not make a scene. The Baron is with her, but she is quite pale and I fear she will faint soon. Let us reach them quietly and without appearing to hurry. That will only draw attention, and as yet few have noticed. The fewer who do so, the better.”

Marveling at her cool command, he followed her lead until they reached Etienne and Juliet, who did indeed appear very pale, white-lipped and wide-eyed. She did not respond to her brother, nor Darcy, and flinched when Edmund approached them.

“What is the matter?” Edmund whispered to Darcy, who merely shook his head slightly. He had never seen Juliet look so dreadful.

Colonel Ogleby had approached with Edmund. “She is in shock,” that man murmured to Edmund and Darcy, “I have seen it enough times; we both have, Fitzwilliam.”

Elizabeth was speaking softly to Juliet, who showed no signs of hearing her, though she switched between English and French. “In soldiers, Ogleby, not ladies,” Edmund replied acidly. “Where is Montilvert?”

Etienne stood helplessly by his sister, who would not allow him to touch her. He shook his head. “I have not seen him this evening,” Etienne replied.

Juliet shied away every time Darcy tried to take her arm or speak to her. Elizabeth turned to Etienne and bade him to fetch his carriage. “Your sister is overcome by the heat, sir,” she said to him in a loud voice, as though she were attempting to be heard over the conversation. “I own, I am feeling faint myself. Let us depart, shall we, Lady Juliet?”

Elizabeth looped her arm through Juliet’s, and that lady thankfully did not protest. She did not seem to notice much at all, and barely registered Elizabeth. Juliet was taller by a head, but Elizabeth fixed herself to Juliet’s side in such a way that looked companionable but would support her weight if she began to faint. “Ogleby,” she said, “fetch Sir Edward and tell him that I am going to the D’Arcy residence. Fitzwilliam can give you the direction, if my uncle desires it. I will need you to fetch a physician - “

“No,” Etienne protested. “She does not like doctors, will not see them.”

“Fetch Maisie, then, my maid, Edmund. She’s something of an herbalist. William, walk beside me and keep up a conversation about the weather, books, anything. Let us appear as normal as possible.” Darcy tossed her a questioning look, but nodded along with Ogleby and Fitzwilliam.

It seemed an eternity, but they escaped the Hofburg without anyone noticing anything too amiss, and the excuse of heat was accepted by all. Juliet appeared to have a delicate constitution, with her willowy frame and fragile beauty. Darcy hoped it was the truth, that nothing more was amiss, but he could tell by the tightness in Elizabeth’s features that she had noticed something more than she was saying at present.

Carriages were coming and going at a constant rate, but fortune favored them and the D’Arcy coach was close. As they filed inside, Darcy raised his eyebrows at Elizabeth, but she mouthed, “Later,” and he would have to be content with that. They rode in silence, apart from softly spoken comforts in French from all of them, hoping to elicit some sort of response from Juliet, who merely stared at the carriage floor, unseeing.

When Juliet began to shake, Elizabeth quickly undid the clasp of her cloak and tucked around her, waving off the gentlemen who moved more slowly. Juliet met Elizabeth’s eyes, whispered something that Darcy couldn’t quite make out, and then surprisingly placed her head on Elizabeth’s shoulder and began to cry.

Elizabeth looked surprised, but murmured something in French that he half-heard over the carriage wheels, and sounded as though she told Juliet over and over that she was now safe. Darcy frowned. What the devil had gotten into his young cousin? Etienne and Juliet had both always struck him as nervous and unsure of themselves, which was one reason he was so determined to see them established confidently before he returned to England. The other, of course, was that he promised Mariette to see to their welfare, and he could not renege on such a vow. Not after everything Mariette had done for him.

He had never known either of them to truly be ill, and even Montilvert, cold as he was, did claim proudly that they both had healthy constitutions despite years of constant travel. Something had upset Juliet, and upset her deeply. It was odd, however, that even Etienne seemed mystified as to what was amiss.

 

*************

 

The carriage pulled up to the D’Arcy townhouse, and Juliet would not let go of Elizabeth long enough for Darcy to assist her from the carriage, so she waved both the gentlemen aside, holding on to Juliet’s hand while she got down out of the carriage herself. She then pulled Juliet out after her and hurried the still shivering woman inside.

Etienne called for Joubert, Juliet’s abigail, and the older woman came running at the sound of panic in her master’s voice. She took in the site of Elizabeth and Juliet at once, and ushered both women up to Juliet’s chambers and away from the gentlemen, giving assurances to them that she would see to everything.

Darcy was left standing in the entryway with Etienne, who looked at him in a lost fashion before suggesting they take a drink in the library. Darcy agreed readily, and they entered that room after divesting themselves of outerwear. Etienne stared into the fire, then seemed to rouse himself.

“When we were small children,” he said in French, too shaken to remember his English, “she would have these spells. We went through four different nursemaids. She would scream for hours, with seemingly no provocation. I never knew what caused them, only that they stopped one day. I also never knew what Mama did to make them stop, but she seemed to know how to comfort Juliet. Mama always seemed to know what was needed.

“I can imagine,” Darcy replied, in French, which brought the realization that he had not spoken it much for the past few months. Not since the aftermath of Toulouse, really, and Bonaparte’s surrender in Paris. He had even stopped dreaming in French. “That was Mariette’s kind and generous nature.”

Etienne was silent for a moment, before replying. “She was not always so kind,” he said. “She was never unkind to us, you understand, but there was always a core of steel in her. I believe that was why she married Montilvert; they were more alike than different. Papa was too kind, you know. Too soft. That is why he lost his head.”

Darcy sat forward. He had never heard the death of his cousin, the old Baron D’Arcy, spoken of like this, particularly the man’s death. Mariette had made it seem unavoidable, and so he had thought perhaps disease...and, too, he recalled the man in England seeking asylum at Pemberley when he was a small child and France was in the grip of the Terror. He never did know why the D’Arcy family had left and returned to the Continent; it was not a subject of which Darcy and his father had ever spoken.

Before he could question Etienne, Edmund and Ogleby arrived with the girl called Maisie, who was Elizabeth’s maid. She was ushered upstairs, and conversation between the gentlemen became more casual. Etienne tended to remain silent around Colonel Fitzwilliam, with neither man quite trusting the other.

“Sir Edward escorted Lady Isobel and the current Countess of Blackmore home on behalf of Lord Blackmore. It appears Sir Edward’s new estate shares a border with theirs in Yorkshire, so they have decided that it behooves them to be neighborly.” Edmund smiled. “I rather like Lady Isobel. She reminds me of Lady Catherine without the venom.”

“I’m gratified for your approval; she is my godmother,” Ogleby pronounced.

Elizabeth appeared a few minutes later. Though lovely still in that delectable green dress, she appeared tired and drained. Small wonder, Darcy realized. Her strength and quick thinking alone had bolstered them through this crisis and saw to it that they created no scandal. He poured a measure of cognac into a new glass and then offered it to her. She looked at him in surprise, but then smiled wearily and took a sip, coughing slightly at its warmth.

“Lady Juliet is resting,” she assured Etienne when she found her voice. “She has taken a little wine, and a tisane that my maid Maisie brews from chamomile, spearmint, ginger root, and fennel. It is very calming, and she was able to drink a little broth as well that Joubert brought from the kitchens so that the wine does not make her ill.”

“Do you have any notion of what upset her?” Edmund asked.

“No,” Elizabeth replied, and Darcy sensed that she was holding something back. “I do not believe it is our place to pry. Except for the Baron, for he is her brother. The rest of us, I believe, should retire for the evening, and leave them in peace.” Her tone brooked no opposition, and though Darcy noted that Edmund tossed her a look, he clapped a hand onto Ogleby’s shoulder and steered him to the door.

“We have a hansom waiting,” Edmund said. “Darcy, will you see Miss Bennet and her maid home? Sir Edward will meet them there.”

“Please, make use of our carriage,” Etienne said to them. “I have asked the driver to keep it ready. Miss Bennet,” he said, taking her hand and bowing elegantly over it, “please allow me to thank you greatly for your service to my sister. She has few friends, but I believe you now count as one of them. When she is better, I am certain she would like to call upon you.”

Elizabeth’s smile was genuine, though Darcy did not miss the quick look of encouragement from Edmund. He had excellent peripheral vision; a fact his dearest cousin seemed to forget upon occasion. Nor did he miss the look of irritation she returned to Edmund after assuring Etienne that Juliet would be more than welcome at Sir Edward’s residence. Darcy frowned to himself, disliking the implications of such an exchange.

Inside the carriage, Elizabeth’s exhaustion became more evident, and she settled herself against the squabs without apparent care for her hair or attire, much to Maisie’s evident disapproval. Despite the heavy feeling of foreboding that had settled in his heart, some part of him felt gratified that she felt so at ease in his presence. “There was a man,” she said finally, as the carriage pulled away, her eyes closed and her voice low. “Tall, with a long face and sharp cheeks, nose like a carrot. Blonde and pale. That is all I can tell you for certain, but Lady Juliet saw him, grew pale, and nearly fainted as he walked past her. What she did not see, nor did the Baron,” she continued, “as he was too busy catching his sister in his arms, was the look the man gave her. I do not know how to describe it other than that it was full of malice. I could not begin to know why.”

Maisie glanced at her mistress, and though she stayed silent, she made no pretense of not hearing the conversation. Evidently, Elizabeth trusted the girl implicitly. “You did not tell this to Etienne,” he said as a statement rather than a question.

“I had no opportunity to speak to him privately,” she countered. “Lady Juliet’s health was my primary concern.” Elizabeth opened her eyes. “That poor girl was so terribly frightened. It tugged at my heartstrings, and I could not simply leave her. Though I might at times bemoan my wealth of sisters, I cannot deny that they are also a constant source of support and female companionship. I believe Lady Juliet has had little of either in her life.”

Darcy frowned in agreement. “I believe you are correct. I know little of their early lives, and frankly, not much more about the past few years.”

“I cannot say that is a surprise. The pair seems intensely private, and I cannot imagine the Comte de Montilvert is particularly forthcoming about his private life and dealings.”

“Is this how you discuss things with Edmund?” Darcy asked casually, rewarded by her sharp intake of breath. Ah, so, he had been correct in that guess, after all.

Elizabeth was silent for a long minute, then he saw her straighten her posture, as his question brought her to her full attention. “Yes,” she said simply. “It is, for the most part.”

“For the most part,” he repeated. He could not say that he liked such apparent intimacy between Edmund and Elizabeth, but he neither could he discount everything that had happened that evening as a product of Edmund’s machinations. She might gather information for his cousin, but surely she would not pretend to an affection she did not feel?

A lump began to burn in his throat, but he kept his expression calm. “He asked you to befriend my cousins, did he not? To become close to them in the hopes that they would confide in you.”

He noticed that her fingers were white where she gripped the edge of the seat. She had neglected to replace her gloves after sitting with Juliet. Maisie had turned to the window. This was, indeed, a conversation the abigail wanted no part in. He scarcely wanted one, himself. “Yes,” she admitted, and he closed his eyes. _Damnation, Edmund!_

“And me?”

“That is hardly -”

“It is a simple question, to be answered simply with ‘yes’ or ‘no’,” he snapped, temper getting the better of him. He drew a deep breath, fighting down the well of disappointment.

“Oh, hang it!” she exclaimed in frustration. “No, it is not a simple question, William! Edmund, and yes, we have been on such terms as to use given names for ages now–hold your tongue a moment! Edmund pointed out, and rightly so, that you and I must learn to get along without disagreement, or we would tear apart my sister and her husband between us. I agreed, for that reason. But that is not the reason I agreed to waltz with you, or to continued to speak to you, or any of the rest of it. That simple consideration is not the reason that spurred me to action tonight, I can assure you.”

“Then what is? I pray, enlighten me.”

Her hands had curled into fists, and he could feel the heat of her glare even in the darkness of the carriage. The maid shifted uncomfortably beside Elizabeth, but she took no notice. “Because, you obtuse, frustrating, endearing, hopeless idiot, I fell in love with you! I don’t know how or why, but I did and now I do not know what to do except to rail at fate for its viciously cruel irony, and to shout at you, for what other recourse is there?”

The carriage pulled to a halt before Darcy could force his stunned mind to fully absorb her words. “We have arrived, Miss Bennet, and there is another carriage out front, but I do not believe it is Lady Blackmore’s.”

“Go and see who it is Maisie. Now, if you please,” she instructed, never taking her eyes off Darcy, and the maid slipped quietly from the coach.

There was nothing for it. Darcy reached for Elizabeth and pulled her roughly into his arms, covering her mouth with his own as though he would never in his life have another opportunity to kiss a woman. Her lips met his with the same reckless abandon, and she gripped his shoulders, his arms, his hair and neck as though she could not be close enough to him. He wanted to tell her all of the words that were in his heart, but he could not find the strength to release her, she fit so perfectly within his arms, and her lips tasted of cognac, and Lord help him, he would never, _ever_ have enough of this woman.

The kiss finally broke of its own accord so that could each catch their breath. Darcy leaned his brow against hers, his hands sliding up from their grasp of her waist to cup her beautiful, darling face. “My love,” he whispered, “my very heart.”

“Oh, William,” she sighed. “We are such fools.”

He kissed her again, softly, sweetly, and as reverently as though he held the most holy of artifacts in his hands. “Marry me, darling Elizabeth. Please end this torment, and say you will be my wife. I cannot live with this hollow emptiness any longer. I need you.” He smoothed an errant curl from her eyes. “Let me protect you, love you, cherish you for the rest of our lives. Will you have me?”

“Lord, yes.” She wrapped her arms around him and tucked her head into his shoulder. “Yes, I will.”

Darcy exhaled the breath he had been holding and felt as though an enormous weight had been lifted from his heart. “Dearest,” he whispered in her ear after a moment, “we should go inside. Your uncle and maid are glaring daggers at me from the doorway.”

  
***********************  
  


Elizabeth used the moments in which William helped her out of the carriage in order to compose herself before facing her uncle. Her hair was somewhat in disarray, as was her cloak, which she had reclaimed from Lady Juliet, and oh, heavens, her lips were swollen from being kissed senseless.

What a kiss! Were they all to be like that? She had nothing to compare it to, but did not mourn that, for who could possibly have been William’s equal?

She approached her uncle with some trepidation, for though her news was joyous, they had most certainly crossed the line into impropriety, and with fervor! Elizabeth flushed under Sir Edward’s amused look. “I take it you have news, Lizzy.”

“I do,” she admitted.

“And I take it that you, sir, wish to speak to me on the morrow? Though my niece is of age, I would certainly be gratified.”

“As would I,” Darcy agreed, holding out a hand which Sir Edward clasped. Elizabeth breathed a sigh of relief. “If you would like, we can speak quickly this evening.”

Sir Edward smiled, but shook his head and he ushered them inside. “In the morning, lad. There is a greater matter to attend to this evening.”

Elizabeth wondered what her uncle could refer to, and then remembered the other carriage that Maisie had ostensibly been sent to investigate. “Who is visiting at this hour?” she asked.

Well, it was what she attempted to ask, only upon entry into the hall, she found herself once more holding an armful of tearful female. This time, however, the woman in question was far more familiar! “Jane!” Elizabeth exclaimed in shock, pulling back far enough to indeed confirm that it was Mrs. Bingley and not a phantom of her imagination. “Oh, Jane! Whatever are you doing here?”

“I imagine that might be laid at my door, somewhat,” came the tired voice of Charles Bingley, who followed his wife into the hall. “I took it into my head to come to Vienna, only we have had the very devil of a trip, and have arrived here to find absolutely no accommodations anywhere in the city! Darcy,” he cried upon seeing that gentleman, “good God, man! It has been an age!”

“Bingley! Great heavens, this is a surprise!” The two gripped hands fervently, each grinning in unabashed pleasure.

Elizabeth was certain her surprise could not have increased, but thereafter an uncertain voice called out, “Brother?” William’s head whipped around and he stared in shock at the new arrival.

“Georgiana?”

 

*****************

TBC

 


	6. Chapter 6

Darcy stared at the unexpected specter of his sister. She was taller, he noticed absently, more of a young woman than a young girl. Her traveling dress was new, and highly fashionable, if a trifle wrinkled, and her blue bonnet sat amidst an elegant hairstyle he had never seen her wear. Georgiana was grown, now, and almost a stranger.

She was looking at him nervously, her hands clasped tightly in front of her and held up close to her chest, as though she were ready to pull away from him at the slightest sign of disapproval. A terrible wave of guilt washed over him - what sort of brother, what sort of man, was he to have abandoned her so?

He took a step forward and opened his arms. “Dear girl,” he said softly, and his sister abandoned all attempt at self-control and ran into his arms sobbing. Darcy held her tightly, murmuring in her ear how dreadfully happy he was to see her, how he had wanted to send for her but could not think of anyone to escort her. He told her of the pianoforte he had bought for her, and how lovely and grown up she looked, and still she cried against his shoulder.

Darcy looked helplessly over Georgiana’s bonnet at Elizabeth, who held an equally overwrought Jane Bingley. Elizabeth bit her lip to stifle the sudden burst of amusement that shone in her eyes, most likely at his own unspoken but desperate plea for assistance. “Oh, my,” she said. She looked over at Bingley, and while that gentleman was not reduced to tears, he did appear more exhausted than Darcy had ever seen him. He hadn’t thought anything could tap the well of boundless energy Bingley seemed to possess.

“It was a difficult journey,” said a new voice, and Darcy realized there was another young woman in the hall. She had been standing in the shadows by the parlor door.

Bingley recollected himself. “Forgive me, I am terribly rag-mannered this evening. Allow me to introduce Miss Olivia Harrington. She is a dear friend of Georgiana’s, and has traveled with us ahead of her family in order to see her brother, who also currently resides in Vienna. Miss Harrington, this is my wife’s sister, Miss Elizabeth Bennet, their uncle Sir Edward Gardiner, and my dear friend Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy.”

The two overset women were making attempts to recollect themselves as the introductions were made. “Miss Harrington?” Elizabeth echoed as she let go of Mrs. Bingley. “Is your brother by chance Major Joshua Harrington?”

That young woman started in surprise. “Why, yes! Do you know him?”

“We are intimately acquainted with Major Harrington, my dear,” Sir Edward said, ushering them all into the parlor. “Partridge,” he addressed the waiting butler, “please see to tea, would you kindly? Anything in the larder is fine, even something as simple as toast and cheese would not go amiss, I think.”

Mrs. Bingley dabbed at her eyes with the offered handkerchief. “Oh, Lizzy, thank you,” she said. “I am not usually such a watering pot, but the past few days have been trying indeed, and I was so happy to see you that it quite overset me.” She smiled, and then frowned. “Oh, dear, I’ve ruined your pretty hair and oh, my, what a lovely gown! You look so beautiful, my dear!”

Darcy threw Elizabeth a meaningful look as to the disarray of her coiffure, and she again pressed her lips together to keep from laughing. He dearly wanted to kiss those lips again, but for now, his happiness in seeing Bingley and Georgiana would simply have to suffice. Elizabeth turned away and secured a few pins, rescuing the pile of braids that had been threatening to fall.

Georgiana had remained by his side as they entered the parlor, and he sat her down on the sofa next to himself. “I had not expected to find you here, so soon, Brother!” Georgiana exclaimed, smiling tremulously as she mastered her emotions. She dabbed at her own eyes with the handkerchief he had offered to her. Her eyes roved over his face and she smiled. “I am so very pleased to see you!”

“As am I, dear girl, as am I. We have much to talk about,” he said, squeezing her hand. He had not realized, until this moment, just how very dearly he had missed her. Elizabeth’s comments on the loneliness of Lady Juliet struck him. Perhaps he was the same, himself. While he had been fortunate in a brotherly companionship with Edmund, he had always maintained a more respectful distance with his sister, given the disparity in their ages. That distance had not only isolated him, but Georgiana as well. Her uncertainty of his welcome had cut him to the quick.

“Elizabeth,” Georgiana said, “it is quite a pleasure to see you again, as well! You do indeed look quite lovely, what a picture you must have presented at the ball you attended this evening. Your butler informed us where you were,” she explained.

“I am only sorry you were left alone! I hope it was not for long!” Elizabeth said, seating herself in the blue-striped chair she seemed to favor. The firelight caught the jewels at her neck and the gold thread in her gown. To him, she was every inch the verdant goddess, a Titania.

“No, indeed,” Bingley explained. “We had only just arrived before Sir Edward, and then you and Darcy.” He paused, as the implication in that sentence struck him, and he tossed Darcy a look.

Darcy smiled widely, which seemed to surprise Bingley even further. “I was just escorting Miss Bennet and her maid home,” he explained. “My cousin, Lady Juliet, had taken ill and Elizabeth was assisting us.” Drat, he had used her name. Bingley’s eyebrows climbed even higher.

“That was kind of you, Lizzy,” Jane said into the silence, not seeming to have noticed Darcy’s inadvertent intimacy.  

Elizabeth coughed delicately. “Yes, well, Lady Juliet is a dear. As much as I am happy to discuss myself and my sterling qualities, I must ask - what are you doing here, my dear Jane?”

“It is entirely my fault,” Bingley offered, as the tea was served. “You know how I can be rather impetuous,” he said as an aside to Darcy.

“Oh, Charles!” Jane exclaimed. “I was fully in favor of the notion, my dear. You cannot absorb all of the blame.”

“I am the gentleman, Jane, such is my duty,” Bingley countered, winking at his wife.

Jane sniffed. “Fiddle. Charles has developed an interest in politics,” she explained to them, “specifically, he’s been offered a position at the Foreign Office. Lord Stalton is his patron, and suggested it might be helpful if Charles joined the rest of the Duke of Wellington’s retinue in Vienna for support, as Lord Castlereagh is due back in England to present some of the agreements to Parliament.”

Elizabeth stared at her sister in disbelief. It seemed that Charles Bingley was not the only one with an interest in politics, and never had Darcy witnessed Mrs. Bingley asserting herself to the degree that she just had. He glanced at Bingley, who was looking at his wife rather proudly. “Exactly,” Bingley said. “Only I am a dunderhead…”

“Oh, Charles!”

“I am!” he protested. “I did not think to secure rooms beforehand.”

Miss Harrington spoke at this juncture. “I could perhaps stay with my brother and hire a chaperone. I confess I am eager to see him; we were always very close and yet have been apart this last few years.”

Sir Edward shook his head. “My dear, the Major stays with a few friends at a local hotel that is used as a sort of barracks at the moment. It is not a proper establishment for a young lady.”

Her face fell. She was a rather pretty girl, Darcy noted, surprising as he thought of Lord Bellhope and Major Harrington. The gentlemens’ features were each very distinguished, but very strong and masculine, and not at all what he thought would have translated well to the feminine. He had expected to find a sister of Harrington’s rather horse-faced, to be honest, but Miss Harrington’s features, though a trifle long, were elegant and possessed a great deal of character if not traditional beauty.

“I wrote to you,” Georgiana said, turning to Darcy. “Olivia asked me to come with her to Vienna, as we have become so close. My uncle thought it an excellent idea, but then Olivia’s aunt sprained her ankle and refused to travel, and Charles and Jane said they were planning on leaving within a week’s time, and they invited us along, and...well, here we are. I fear we are intruding.”

She held her hands close to her chest again, nervously playing with the buttons on her pelisse. Darcy reached out and took her hands in his again. “Dearest, I am simply overjoyed to see you. How you arrived, or what spurred you to come to Vienna makes no difference. I have accommodations in the city, and luckily, it is quite a large townhouse. Stoges and all the rest are here, so you will be among familiar faces.”

Darcy turned to Sir Edward and Bingley. “If I might suggest? It is rather late, and while I am certain everyone is overjoyed to be reunited, I believe the ladies in particular could use some rest. I can easily spare rooms for Mr. and Mrs. Bingley in addition to my sister. Perhaps you could spare room for Miss Harrington?”

“Oh, indeed!” Elizabeth interjected, giving the young woman a wide smile. “As you know, we are particular friends of your brother’s, and so you will be able to see him often. I suppose as well,” she added with a laugh, “Lady Isobel would be spared some of the wear on her carriage, though I own I shall miss her company.”

Sir Edward nodded his agreement. “Yes, a fine plan all around. Let us disperse then, to settle in for the night. Lizzy, you can send our regrets to Lady Isobel in the morning, for I believe we should cancel our dinner plans and have a nice family dinner here so that we can talk intimately. Mr. Darcy, sir, if you do not have plans for tomorrow evening, will you and Miss Darcy kindly join us? I shall invite the Colonel of course, and Major Harrington. I do not think Lady Isobel will spare Colonel Ogleby, and where Ogleby goes, Captain West doth follow.”

Darcy smiled. “I should be happy to join you, I have no plans that cannot be cancelled. Georgiana?”

“Oh,” she said, surprised that he hadn’t answered for her, “yes, I should like that very much, thank you, Sir Edward.”

  
*******************  
  


“Oh, Lizzy,” Jane said again, as they stood to leave. She took Elizabeth’s hands into her own and studied her dear sister’s face. Elizabeth smiled widely with joy.

“Dear Jane,” she replied. “Come by once you are comfortable tomorrow; Mr. Darcy shall give your coachman the direction. We shall have a nice coze, just you and I.”

“Yes, I would like that.” A shadow passed over Jane’s eyes, and though she smiled, it was not with her usual serenity. “I have missed you so terribly.” She kissed Elizabeth’s cheeks and then left to put her arm through her husband’s, who turned and smiled warmly at his wife, pressing his hand and lifting it momentarily to his lips when he thought no one was looking. Some of the tension seemed to leave Jane’s shoulders with that gesture, but Elizabeth still sensed that something was amiss with her dearest sister.

Partridge had fetched Maisie, as he anticipated at least one lady would be staying in residence, and he’d had a room prepared, as he informed Elizabeth. She thanked him warmly and introduced Maisie to Miss Harrington. “Your room is ready, and the sheets have been warmed, Miss Harrington,” Maisie said with a curtsey. “If you would follow me?”

“Oh,” Miss Harrington sighed blissfully, “warm sheets do sound like heaven. Am I in heaven, Miss Bennet?”

Elizabeth laughed. “Far from it, dear. Georgiana, would you like to see your friend upstairs and say a quick goodnight while her trunks are still being unloaded? It will only be a moment. Maisie will bring you back down.”

MIss Darcy smiled in gratitude and tucked her arm into Miss Harringtons, and the young ladies ascended the stairs, reminding Elizabeth forcefully of how she and Jane used to retreat in the evenings. How things could change! It was bittersweet, the memory.

Then William’s fingers closed over her elbow and he pulled her back into the shadow of the staircase, away from the eyes of her uncle, Jane, and Charles. “Dearest Elizabeth,” he whispered in her ear, and a delightful shiver ran through her. “I did not imagine what happened earlier in the carriage, did I? I confess I have been through so many recent shocks that I begin to fear my ability to tell fact from fiction.”

“If it is fiction, William,” she said as softly as she could manage, “then we are in the same novel.” Quickly she stood on tip toe and daringly brushed her lips against his own, swiftly and gently.

“I love you, wholly and without reservation,”  he told her simply, as she withdrew from his embrace.

She smiled and touched his cheek. “It is a sentiment that is completely returned, my darling. You will come to see me in the morning, again? It cannot be so very improper if we are engaged.”

“If it is not, I intend to make it so.” Elizabeth exhaled slowly, her eyes widening. There was a deep passion and promise in his voice, and she felt a rolling tide of heat and longing sweep through her.

“Oh,” she breathed, “and now how am I to sleep?”

He grinned and had to bite his lip to stifle a laugh. It was a devilish look, one that completely melted what was left of her heart. “Well, that now makes two of us, then.”

Georgiana’s returning footsteps distracted them, and Darcy stepped forward to receive his sister. Elizabeth joined them a moment later after she had regained enough semblance of self control to say goodnight.

Oh, heavens, it was going to be a terribly long and sleepless night, she thought as Darcy gave her one last, lingering look before he settled the Bingleys and Georgiana into Sir Edward’s carriage. Her uncle stood beside her and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Well, my dear,” he said. “It seems I am to offer you my congratulations!”

She could not help the very happy smile that spread over her face. “Oh, uncle!” she cried. “I know it is unexpected, and I shall have a great deal of explaining to do, but I am undoubtedly the happiest woman the world!”

He escorted her to the foot of the stairs. “I am most relieved to hear that. I do not believe Thomas could have parted with you under any other circumstances. I am also pleased that my estimation of your Mr. Darcy’s character has proved accurate. I assume he was your source for the information about George Wickham?”

She put a hand on the bannister, intending only to nod in affirmation, but something stopped her. Elizabeth realized that she wanted at least one other person to know the true nature of this miraculous event. Though she supposed she would tell Jane tomorrow, of course, but her uncle also deserved the full truth. “When I met him in Kent, and you recall that I said we argued?”

He nodded and she continued, “He had asked me to marry him, then, and I refused. I confess, he was stunned by my rejection and pressed me for reasons. It was in an attempt to redeem himself that he told me the true nature of his dealings with Mr. Wickham. I had thrown terrible accusations in his face.” She sighed. “I have learned a great deal, since then, and I know better than to allow flattery to blind me so.”

Sir Edward’s eyebrows had climbed to his hairline. “He has asked you to marry him again, despite all that?”

Elizabeth closed her eyes. “I know now, more than ever, how very truly fortunate I am in such a man’s love, Uncle. When I realized that I returned it, I was terribly afraid.”

He patted her arm. “There, there, my dear. It has all turned out well in the end.” He stepped forward and kissed her forehead. “I offer my sincere congratulations and add my blessing to the match. I shall write to Thomas as soon as I speak with your young man tomorrow. For now, I shall retire to the library and read the long letter from my dearest wife that Jane was so kind to bring with her.”

“You must miss her dreadfully,” Elizabeth said in sympathy.

With a clearing of his throat, Sir Edward nodded. “Yes, yes I do. It is difficult to function with half a heart, you know, but I must do my best at it. It is all for her, after all, and our children, to ensure and protect their future. That is what sees me through. When you become a mother, Lizzy, I daresay you shall understand that drive. Good night, dear girl.”

For the first time since the whirlwind of the ball, Elizabeth allowed herself to think of that future as she ascended the stairs to her room. Darcy would be her husband, and the father of her children! While the thought of what engendered creating those children brought quick breathing and a desperately heated flush, there was a far deeper feeling. The thought of holding a child that was part of her, and part of William, pulled at her heart in a wonderfully poignant fashion. She felt overwhelmed with joy, and had to pause halfway up the stairs to wipe away tears at the corners of her eyes - with her gloves, of course, as she had given her handkerchief to Jane.

“Lizzy?” her uncle called softly, and she turned around to see that he had poked his head out of the library. “I thought I should mention - Partridge is under strict orders to leave the door to the morning room open, should any visitors arrive early. I do not believe your maid needs to be summoned, but please ensure that such remains the case, would you? I have every faith in your young man’s determination to wed you, but let’s not shock our young guest, eh?”

She nodded, unable to speak past a gurgle that was half unseemly laughter and half dismay. She did not wish to press Sir Edward, as he had thus far been awfully lenient with propriety; far more lenient, she knew, than any of his own daughters could ever expect. Elizabeth was fortunate in her uncle’s trust, though it certainly did not harm his sleep to know that there were four gentleman soldiers who would cheerfully run through any man that had dishonorable intentions towards her.

_Heavens, I have had four sisters in England, and now in Vienna, I have found as many brothers! I do not do things by halves._ Grinning, she made her way to bed at last.

 

***************

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

Georgiana Darcy rose early the next morning, not quite able to find as restful a slumber as she would have hoped in a strange bed. The townhouse was not nearly as nice as Darcy House in London, but it was quite adequate, and her brother seemed content with it. She wondered how Olivia fared at Sir Edward’s, but knew that Elizabeth would take good care of her friend. She quite liked Jane’s sister, though she had not spent as much time with her as she would have preferred. Miss Bennet had been occupied primarily with her family, and then left for Vienna.

Though she was always polite and kind, even a little teasing, there had been something distant about Elizabeth, and she always avoided any discussion of William, which was frustrating. She was the only lady Georgiana could ever remember being mentioned in his letters without rancor who was not a relation. She had nearly begun to fancy that Elizabeth disliked Will, but then the two had been together last night, and seemed perfectly in accord.

Georgiana had been too occupied in her own relief at her brother’s welcome to truly notice his state. She had not thought William would turn her away, precisely, but it was a very impetuous decision, and while it was not as ruinous as, say, a choice to run away and elope with George Wickham, it was still quite rash. She had sent him a letter, but she had waited until she knew it was more likely that she would arrive first. After two years apart, Georgiana did not think she could have stomached her brother’s rejection.

She dressed in her favorite winter morning dress of jonquil yellow calico, printed with tiny blue flowers. It had long sleeves and ruffles at the wrist and hem, and with a warm shawl that she had finished knitting on the trip, it was perfect for the chilly morning. The bright yellow cheered her spirits, which had flagged throughout repeated broken carriages, delays, and crowded inns.

She made her way downstairs, and was directed towards the dining room, where breakfast was laid out on the sideboard. William sat with a newspaper that was all in German, but he set it aside as soon as she entered and stood. He held his arms open once again with a large smile and she rushed into them, but this time without tears.

His squeezing hug was so terribly comforting. She placed her head on his shoulder as she used to do when she was still in the nursery, and he obligingly propped his chin on top of her hair, as he did back then. “Hullo, Georgie,” he murmured, using a pet name that he had not called her since she was twelve.

“Hullo, Will,” she replied. Georgiana had always thought of him as Will, though she had ceased calling him by such an abbreviation when he became Mr. Darcy, the master of Pemberley, and was no longer Young Master Will.

“I have missed you wretchedly, you know,” he said. “I regretted the absence, regretted leaving you with only your uncle and aunts for company.”

“There was Cousin Anne,” she offered.

He drew away from her and raised an eyebrow. “Was there, truly?”

“No,” she admitted, “not really. I had Olivia, though, and Jane. They are dear friends. Lord Stalton knew Olivia’s father, and her eldest brother, the Viscount Bellhope, is one of his allies. We were introduced at a party. I still have not yet been formally presented, we did not think it right to do it without you, but Lady Ellen did believe that I should begin attending a few entertainments.”

William winced, and reached over for her hand. “You are entirely right to do so, and I can only apologize that my absence has held you back from society.”

Georgiana shook her head. “No, dear brother, do not apologize, not for that. For making me miss you so, perhaps, but not for keeping me from balls. I do not enjoy them, particularly, and this has been a far more gentle entrance into society. Cousin Eversley and the Viscountess have been very protective, as well. Our dear elder cousin is very different since his marriage.”

He hummed thoughtfully, taking a sip of the coffee she poured for him. “Georgiana,” he asked after a moment’s pause, “why did you seem so frightened of me last night? Surely you did not think I could be angry with you.”

She sighed and dabbed at her mouth with the serviette, which bought her a few moments to frame her answer. “We were all frightfully exhausted, and had practically driven over half the city looking for accommodations. In my tiredness, I began to imagine the very worst, even if I did not truly think it would happen so. I know my decision to come to Vienna was very rash, and in my overwrought state, I could not help but compare it to...well, to the last time I was rash,” she finished in a very low voice to ensure privacy.

“Ah,” he said in comprehension. There hung another silence between them, and Georgiana held her tongue, sensing that William wished to speak but was having difficulty with the correct words. Finally, he sighed and offered her a wry smile as he reached for his coffee. “Georgie, my dear, you are not the only Darcy capable of rash, disastrous decisions. Do you know, I once asked a woman to marry me?”

Georgiana choked on her tea and coughed into the napkin. “You have proposed to someone?” she exclaimed when she could speak again. “When?”

“In the spring, nearly two years ago.” At her confused glance, he added, “She refused.”

Georgina frowned. “Heavens, it could not have been Cousin Anne? She would not have said no. But you said the spring? Who was it, what happened?”

Darcy shook his head. “What happened is that she pointed out, rightly so, what beastly proud man I had become, and how little I truly saw of those around me any longer. So of course, I ran off to France to escape having to think about it.”

Georgian stared at him. Never had she heard such an openly honest admittance from her brother; while he had never lied to her, he had never taken her into his close confidence, either. “Oh, Brother, that sounds dreadful. I would say that we have both suffered broken hearts, but I have since come to doubt that my heart had been engaged at all by, well, you know whom. It just seemed like such an easy way out of everything I feared. Perhaps,” she offered, “it will someday feel the same to you?”

William shook his head, and she was surprised by the smile on his face. “No, my dear, I am afraid not. You see my heart was, and still is, quite fully engaged.” His smile widened to a grin. “As is the rest of me.”

It took her a moment to understand, but then she gasped. “Oh! William! You are engaged to be married! Heavens to whom? To the same woman? Who is she? Will I like her? Oh, will she like me?”

He laughed and she laughed with him, stunned by this sudden development. “I hope you will like her, Georgiana. In fact, I believe you are already both at least somewhat fond of each other. It is Miss Elizabeth Bennet who is to be your new sister. Shall you like that, dearest?”

He might have hoped to ascertain her acceptance with words, but she had thrown her arms around his neck and cried out in excitement. “Oh, that is brilliant, Brother! You could not have chosen a more perfect wife, I am certain of it!”

“I am glad you think so, Georgiana, but perhaps you should exclaim a trifle less loudly. Though I think Bingley might suspect something, we should really leave it to Elizabeth to tell her sister, don’t you think?”

“Jane does not know?”

William cleared his throat. “Well, it only happened last night, minutes before we stumbled upon you all, so no, I rather think she does not know. Nor does Bingley, but he kept looking between us as though he rather suspected what was afoot.”

Pieces of the previous evening began to click into place in her memory, much like a puzzle. “Gracious, did you offer for her in the carriage, Will? You were such a long time that Sir Edward remarked upon it and left to see if anything was amiss with the equipage.”

It was William’s turn to choke, apparently, and his face had reddened considerably. “Never you mind what happened in the carriage, young lady.”

She attempted to repress a giggle, but was not successful. “Will! How shocking! Did you kiss her?”

“Georgie!” he exclaimed. “You are an imp, Miss.”

“I do apologize, Brother, I fear the excitement carried me away. Or perhaps I have spent too much time with Olivia. She is a dear, but can be rather shocking sometimes.” Georgiana smiled suddenly as she remembered something to share. “Do you know,” she said thoughtfully, “Edmund danced with Olivia at her come-out, she told me.”

“So he knew the Harringtons before Vienna, then? The Major is not in the same regiment, so I was uncertain.” He swallowed a bite of toast.

“Indeed. She told me that all the other gentleman paled in comparison to him.”

William stopped in the middle of buttering another slice of toast and looked at her. “She said what, precisely?”

Georgiana giggled again. “I know, is it not odd? Olivia has very determined tastes in everything, though, so it is not surprising that she is equally as determined when it comes to love. She fully intends to have him, you know.” She sipped her tea.

“Edmund,” William clarified. “Our Edmund?”

“Yes, Brother.”

“Edmund Fitzwilliam?”

“Indeed,” she confirmed with a happy smile. “She is an heiress, you know. Not a very large fortune, but one well enough to live upon comfortably.”

William shook his head. “Well, I wish her happy hunting. I cannot think a little dab like Miss Harrington could hold Edmund’s attention for long. I do hope she does not break her heart over him; I find I have had quite enough of heartbreak to never wish it upon another.”

She resisted the urge to snort in a very unladylike fashion. Olivia Harrington, a “little dab”? Heavens, that was doing it a bit brown. Olivia, Georgiana had found, was a tempestuous, passionate, and deeply intelligent girl who was a formidable force of nature in her own right. Georgiana sipped her tea and wondered if Colonel Fitzwilliam would even know what hit him.

William kept glancing at the little clock on the mantel. “Do you have somewhere to be, Brother?”

He cleared his throat again, in a sign that she was coming to recognize as signaling his discomfort and embarrassment. “I thought I might...well, I should really speak formally to Sir Edward, and…”

“You wish to see Elizabeth.” Georgiana bit into her toast.

Will met her eyes and smiled, sheepish. “Yes, dearest, I do. Can you forgive my leaving you so soon after your arrival? If it helps, I do feel rather dreadfully torn over the matter.”

Though his tone was jesting, Georgiana felt it merited a serious reply, so she took her time in replacing her teacup and wiping her fingers delicately before reaching for her brother’s hand. “Will, I do understand,” she assured him. “I have been so worried for you these past few years, and had no one to talk of it to save Charles Bingley. While he is an estimable gentleman, and has stood as an excellent guardian to me, he is not my brother, and could not fully assuage my fears. But now, to see you at last, and to see you so very happy! I am well content, as long as you will assure me that you will not ship me back to England without you.”

His smile was radiant, and it truly did settle all of her fears and doubts to see her dear brother so very joyful. She could still remember the boisterous youth he had been when she was small, all smiles and energy and full of kindness. He had grown steadily quieter and more reserved, and now at last there was a little of the boy he had been peeking through the man he had become.

Georgiana had realized in William’s absence that her own behavior had always taken a cue from his. Despite her natural shyness, she did like to laugh and she did enjoy the company of those close to her, but too often she had found herself sealed away and alone with only Mrs. Annesley as company. While a delightful lady, that estimable woman was far older than Georgiana; to old, indeed, to have wanted to make the trip to Vienna, and so she had remained behind at Aristock, as there was truly no need with Mrs. Bingley to serve as chaperone.

While comforting in its familiarity, Georgiana had also realized that her routine had become stifling, and perhaps that was also what had prompted her outrageous behavior in Ramsgate. She laid a good deal of the blame on George Wickham, that was true, but her own response to his overtures and her agreement to elope were things for which she could only hold herself accountable.

She found that with a good friend, either Jane Bingley or Olivia Harrington, social gatherings were enjoyable. If one were cautious and sensible, the attentions of gentlemen were even tolerable on occasion, provided they were not too silly or falsely flattering, though she was hesitant to agree to any sort of steady attentions in the absence of her brother’s approval.

Somehow, he seemed to sense the tenor of her thoughts. “How have you been, Georgie? You said you had been out a little in society. Are there any gentlemen I shall have to chase away with a horsewhip?”

She looked at him in surprise. “Brother, are you teasing me?”

A smirk was his only response and she shook her head at him, laughing lightly. She could only smile at him and answer with full honesty. “No, Will, there are no gentlemen, not really. There were a few flower bouquets and one incredibly silly poem that was an ode to my emerald green eyes.”

“Your eyes are brown, dearest.”

“Indeed, they are!” She laughed. “Can you fathom it? It was truly ridiculous. Olivia has the thing in her possession and brings it out when we are in need of a good laugh. I still am not quite sure if the young man in question is a fortune hunter or considers himself a serious poet. He was overflowing with excessive sensibility. Uncle Stalton chased him off successfully, thank heavens, for I was so terrified that I would giggle in front of him and cause offense that I never knew quite what to say.” She took a final sip of tea before signalling that she was finished to the footman who had just entered the room.

“Good heavens!” she exclaimed once she recognized the lad. “You are little Benny Marsh, are you not? I had a letter from Mrs. Reynolds before I left London with all the news from home,” she said when the youth nodded in affirmation. “Your sister has been delivered of a fine set of healthy twin boys, with lungs, I am told, that can be heard all the way into Lambton proper.” She turned to Will. “You truly do have all of our London staff here, do you not?"

“We are most fortunate in our loyalties,” he agreed with a nod towards the Marsh lad. The family were long Pemberley retainers, and the footman’s father had been head groom before he was pensioned off to a nice little cottage from which he could still see the horses in pasture.

Georgiana smiled widely. “Well, there you have it, Brother. I shall spend my morning dispensing news of home to the staff, so you are free of any obligation to entertain me. Do give Elizabeth my best. Shall I tell them to expect an announcement from the master this evening?”

Will laughed and kissed her forehead, telling that yes, indeed, the staff could expect a happy announcement. He then bid her farewell and took himself off to the Gardiner residence. The footman, whose ears had pricked up, left the room - undoubtedly to be the first to carry the speculation on the happy announcement to the kitchen.

  
**************************  
  


Elizabeth looked up at the sound of Darcy’s voice in the hall. She set the last few stitches in the bit of embroidery she had been working; a cushion cover of thistles from a sheaf of patterns she had purchased at a bookseller’s. The patterns were cleverly offered in color, and had caught her eye. She intended to offer Lady Isobel the thistle cushion in thanks for all her assistance.

He entered the small morning sitting room behind Partridge, and her heart fairly leapt into her throat at the sight of him. They stared at each other, reminiscent of the last time he had called, only a few days prior. So much had altered in so short a time!

“That is a very pretty pattern,” he managed to comment after a moment, referring to the embroidery she had set upon her chair.

She smiled. “Did you come here this morning to talk of needlework, William?”

Partridge withdrew to fetch the small morning tea service, complete with a fresh pot of coffee. “No,” he admitted with a grin. “I came to see you, to assure myself that I had not dreamt all the events of last night.”

Thought he jested, she could spy a nervous uncertainty in his eyes; they roved over her features as though searching for something lost. When at last Partridge’s footsteps faded through the open door, Elizabeth reached out and took William by the lapels of his jacket, pulling him down to meet her halfway as she stood on tip toe and raised her lips to his.

His response was a low murmur of pleasure that set her own blood humming, and he wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her closely against his chest. Hands roved along her shoulders, her arms ( _why_ had she given in to the morning chill and worn long sleeves?), and along her side, thumbs brushing the corner of bosom and sending a delicious tremor through her limbs.

She pulled back only slightly, and only in order to catch her breath, as he persisted in stealing it. William kissed the corner of her mouth, ever so lightly, and at that tantalizing touch, she closed her eyes and tilted her head back, allowing his lips to trail fire along her jaw to her neck, just below her ear. She could smell his scent, the warmth of bay rum and the sharp cleanliness of fine soap, only slightly marred by leather and horse.

Elizabeth rested her head on his shoulder as he drew her into an embrace more tender than passionate, a sense of deep contentment and belonging settling in her heart. Darcy laid his own head against the side of hers, his nose and lips resting along her neck. She giggled suddenly. “Your nose is cold.”

He only pressed it closer, and she squealed. “Your neck is warm. We are well-matched, dearest.” His arms tightened around her as she made a half-hearted attempt at escape, laughing at him. Finally, he allowed her to lean back in his arms far enough to look at him fondly. Elizabeth traced the side of his face with her bare fingers, and he lowered his eyelids and turned his head, kissing her palm.

“For so long,” he said against her fingers, anointing the tip of each one with his lips, “I despaired of ever gaining your good opinion, let alone your affection. I cannot now fathom that it has come to pass.”

“William,” she whispered, and he turned his head to look at her. “We have each shut our hearts to the other and denied our feelings in the past, but I think I have always known, on some level, since the very day we met, that there was something different about you; something I had never felt in the presence of any other man.” She placed one hand over his heart, and she could feel the echo of its beat even through the layers of clothing between their skin.

“Despite the misunderstandings between us,” Elizabeth continued, “you spoke to me here as an equal, and aside from that astonishing letter you wrote to me after my terrible words in Kent, it was the first glimpse I have been given as to your true character. When we danced last night, I knew that I was in danger of losing my heart, but when we spoke after the waltz, I knew it had already been lost. I realized then, my dearest William, that I could not countenance any pain or suffering on your part; that if you withstood injury, it would be as though I myself were wounded. How could that be so, if it were not that you had my heart in your keeping?”

His answer was a kiss, a deep, passionate kiss with nothing gentle in it. His fingers threaded through her hair and cupped the back of her head, holding her to the pressure of his mouth that conveyed all the torrent of emotion he could not put into words. Elizabeth would never have guessed the wicked uses a tongue could be put to in a kiss, but his was nearly her undoing, torturing her with its exploration.

Slowly, he drew back, his breathing ragged. “My love,” he said, “I assume the door is open for a reason, and we should not press your uncle’s good will. If I find I must trip over a chaperone every time we wish to speak, I may very well throw you over my horse and run off with you.”

“That idea is not without its merits,” she protested.

He let out a startled laugh, and pulled her close to him, kissing her forehead. “My darling little temptation.”

Elizabeth smirked.  “I thought I was not handsome enough to tempt you?”

He glanced at her quizzically. “I have not the pleasure of understanding you. I believe I have just clearly demonstrated my reaction to your temptation, and I have long thought you the most beautiful woman I have ever known.”

She bit her lip as Partridge returned with the tea service, and she used the opportunity to pour for Darcy and herself. She had anticipated a laugh, not an explanation. To think, he did not even recall the remark on which her previous dislike had been based! How silly a thing it had been, how innocuous a remark brought about by poor temper and discomfort, and how absurdly wounded she had been!

His head was still cocked to one side as he watched her and accepted the coffee she offered. “To think,” she tried for distraction, “I was only ever accustomed to taking coffee in the evening. Papa is fond of it in the morning, but I only took chocolate until recently.”

They took seats on the small settee near the window. It was further from the fire, but they could be relatively private in conversation, and only partially seen from the door. He perched his coffee on the side table and turned to face her. “Elizabeth, will you not tell me what troubles you?”

She sighed. “I had meant it in jest, thinking you recalled the comment.” His eyes widened as she related the incident at the assembly in Meryton, where they had first laid eyes on each other, and he had insulted her to Bingley.

“Lud,” he replied, “did I say that? If that is the case, I can well and truly understand your dislike of me.” He rubbed a hand across his brow. “I was in a fine state that evening, determined to be displeased with everything, and all I can truly recall is that I was ready to throttle Bingley for insisting upon attending that assembly. I never have been able to abide such a large, and loud, crowd as a public assembly.”

Elizabeth shrugged one shoulder. “Truly, it is no matter, William. I believe we are well beyond such a misunderstanding. I know I have not Jane’s beauty, but I am satisfied with myself, though I own I may feel inadequate next to you from time to time.”

William looked at her in surprise. “What can you mean, inadequate? And what nonsense is this about comparing yourself to your sister? You are as different as chalk and cheese, love. Because one of you is beautiful does not mean the other cannot be called so. I would have expected that you saw yourself at least once in a glass last evening - did you not see the same vision of loveliness that everyone else saw?”

“Fie, William,” Elizabeth laughed, “you will put me to the blush and I shall become intolerable.”

“I am earnest, Elizabeth.”

“I know you are, William, and I thank you for it. I will, someday perhaps, see myself through your eyes, as I hope you shall view yourself through mine. Since we are illuminating only the sterling qualities in one another, I should tell you that you are more handsome than anyone has a right to be, in addition to being the best, and most honorable man of my acquaintance. The unmarried ladies of London shall not be pleased with me.”

Darcy leaned back and crossed his legs. “If they are, it will not be over my own person, love. It will be over the loss of Pemberley and its attached wealth. Every unmarried woman of my acquaintance has been redecorating either Pemberley or Darcy House in their minds each time I have so much as greeted them.” He looked over at her. “Do you know, by refusing my first proposal, you have given me the most precious gift?”

She set her cup aside as well and reached for his hands. “The knowledge that I love you?” she guessed. “That I was not persuaded to accept you for your wealth, only for the truest and deepest of affections?”

The smile he offered in return lit his countenance, and her heart swelled. It was as if, in having allowed herself to see the existence of her love for this man, it continued to swell, finding new and surprising depths. Though everyone lamented the fading of the first flush of new love, Elizabeth could sense the strong bond between them, and could feel that this was more than simple romance and desire; it was a true meeting of equal minds. “Indeed,” he confirmed her guess. “That knowledge is more dear than any jewel, to me.” She leaned against him, his arm around her shoulders and her head resting upon his breast. She took care not to mar what was obviously a concentrated effort by his valet upon his cravat.

They sat in a companionable silence for a few moments, her fingers tucked within his. Sunlight streamed through the window behind them, warming the morning chill. The fire crackled and the smell of coffee permeated the air. Elizabeth was loathe to disturb it, yet she squeezed his fingers and spoke at last, “Dearest, we have much to discuss.”

He sighed. “Indeed, though I own I have not the right head for planning a wedding. I think we both would like our families present, and so should wait until we return to England. It would also be a deal less hassle, from the standpoint of legality.”

“I was not speaking of the wedding, William,” she stopped him, taking a deep and steadying breath.

Darcy frowned when she hesitated. “Then what is it? I hope I do not have to prod you whenever you feel troubled Elizabeth. I wish you to always tell me what is in your mind, and I shall do the same. I cannot promise there will be no disagreements, but I can promise you that I will never dismiss your concerns. I have given orders nearly all my life, and even though I might, on occasion, forget myself around you and issue one imperious edict or another, I have no wish to command my wife.” The corner of his mouth lifted. “That I doubt you would tolerate such is likely what attracted me to you, at first.”

She gave him a small smile. “I am relieved to hear you say so. I did not doubt your love for me, but I imagine it can be no little difficulty to blend two separate lives into one.” She looked down at their entwined fingers, which gave her comfort. “To that end, William, we must have absolute honesty.”

“I have never lied to you, Elizabeth, and I never intend to do so,” he assured her.

“Have you not?” she countered, meeting his bewildered gaze. “I gave you an honest answer to your question about Edmund last night, and I will elaborate upon it now. My loyalties are to England, my family, and you. Though my concern for Lady Juliet was real, I believe when I saw her condition in the ballroom, my only thought was for you, and how you would be affected were there to be a scene. It is true Edmund asked me to befriend them, as he does not entirely trust them, but it is out of concern for you that he did so. Yes,” she held up a hand to forestall his comment, “it was a rather imperious decision of his own, but you know - and likely better than I - how ardently loyal he is to those he considers family. It is the fire that drives him. I could see his fear for you, and though I had misgivings about it, fearing the need to deceive you, I agreed.”

Darcy still held one of her hands, and when she tried to tug it free, he held fast. “I told you the truth last night,” she continued, “because I could not bear you to think that my affection for you was in any way false. I also tell you now that I have no intention of cutting my acquaintance with the Baron and his sister, nor of rejecting their friendship. I will stand them in good stead, dearest, but if there is something that concerns me, I will tell Edmund. I will tell you first, but I will tell him. I would prefer it if we faced it together.”

He was quiet for a minute, and she could see that he was considering her words and his response. It felt like an eternity, during which her throat burned with the fear that he would be angry, would not be able to see the justice in what she said. At last, he nodded, “I can ask no less than for you to share with me what you learn, as they are my family, but Elizabeth, I do understand. I have promised to look out for them, and though I hold the bond of blood very highly, I would not place it above my loyalty to my king and country. There is something very concerning that I do not understand, as yet, in what happened to Juliet last night. I cannot fathom that she would ever be honest with me; she is a very close person, and holds her innermost thoughts from even her brother. If there is a way you can convince her to place her trust in you, to allow us to help her, then I am in support of it.” His eyes searched hers. “I love you, Elizabeth, and with that love must come absolute trust. Yet there is something you do not trust in me; you implied that I had been less than honest with you?”

She pressed her lips together. “Jamaica,” she said finally, in a whisper that could not be overheard. “You were not there, were you? Nor anywhere else in the West Indies? That is not, I think, where you spent the year since you left England.”

“Ah,” he breathed in understanding. “You are right, Elizabeth, and you should know the truth, especially if we are to stand together in this. No, I was not in Jamaica.” His voice was as low as hers and he leaned forward for more privacy. “I was in France. My cousin’s lands march along with some routes through the Pyrenees the army wished to take, and Lord Castlereagh wished me to smooth their path.” He sighed. “And they believed it would be possible to destabilize the southern regions and spur a rebellion, as most of the area had expressed great dissatisfaction with Bonaparte’s heavy taxes.”

Eyes wide, she stared at him in shock. “William,” she exclaimed, grasping his hands and pulling them closer, as though he might disappear any moment, “that must have exceedingly dangerous! What could you have been thinking to accept such a mission? If you had been discovered by the French authorities, you would have been guillotined without a second thought!”

The knowledge of how very close she might have come to never having seen him again, never having been given this precious gift of his continuing love, shook her to her core. He pulled her into his arms. “I did not die, love. Bonaparte is defeated, and I am safe. Truth be told,” he said, sounding chagrined, “I was little successful except in obtaining supplies for our army. They did not cross over any area I had influence upon.”

“Were you at the battle in Toulouse, with Edmund?” she asked. “I know it was not as bloody as some of the other battles - _most_ of the other battles, but he told me there had been a rebellion inside the city, what he called a ‘fifth column’; a band of Royalists that aided the British soldiers.” Elizabeth sat up as Darcy tensed noticeably. “William?”

His expression was stony and he stared at the fire. “I was.”

The change in his demeanor was marked, and she grew worried. “I am sorry; I did not mean to cause you any pain. William, please...will you not look at me?”

“Forgive me,” he said finally, and shook himself with an effort. “It is not an easy subject of which to speak. I will,” he offered, though she could hear the reluctance in his voice, “if you ask it of me.”

Elizabeth shook her head. “No, not now. Not this morning. I can see what it costs you, and I would not ask you to harm yourself for my benefit.”

Darcy did look at her then, and his expression was torn. “I would, Elizabeth. You must know that I would do anything for you, no matter the cost to myself.”

“I do,” she acknowledged, touching his cheek again, as he seemed to draw comfort from that caress, “that is why I will not ask it of you. There may come a time when I need to know, but I will not have you cast into melancholia merely to assuage my curiosity.” She smiled at him. “Not when we have wedding plans to discuss.”

His expression lightened, and filled with gratitude and love. “Well, then, Elizabeth, my dear, London or Longbourn?”

  
*****************************  
  


Jane arrived early enough for luncheon, practically in tandem with Harrington, who was utterly delighted to see his sister, given the many embraces. Elizabeth met them in the hall in her pelisse and bonnet, and motioned for Jane to keep hers in place. “Jane, may I introduce Major Joshua Harrington of the 14th Light Dragoons. He has served with Colonel Edmund Fitzwilliam, who is Mr. Darcy’s cousin. Major, this is my sister, Mrs. Jane Bingley.”

Pleasurable exchanges were given, and then Elizabeth expressed her desire to escort her sister to the morning concert at the Augarten. “Herr Schubert is giving a performance, and I believe Jane would enjoy it immensely.” The Harrington siblings declined to join, opting instead to use the morning room to exchange news.

Once the were en route in the carriage, Elizabeth smiled at Jane. “I did not feel there was any privacy to be gained in the household this afternoon. Pray, forgive me from whisking you away from the promised repast, but there will be refreshments available at the Augarten, and it is a short distance. We will be able to lose ourselves in anonymity for a bit.”

Jane agreed with a pleased smile, seeming to her sister to be far more at ease after a good night’s rest. “Did you rest well at Mr. Darcy’s residence? He has had no female host, so I confess I have not seen the house he has let.”

“It is quite nice, for his having been able to get it at the last moment,” she confessed. “He does not seem happy with the small nature of the library, but I left him and Charles happily ensconced within it, so it cannot be altogether unpleasant. One can hear the pianoforte from the music room, if the door is left open, which Mr. Darcy seemed to enjoy greatly. I am glad to see both he and Georgiana so happy in their reunion; it has been an age since they last saw each other.” She tilted her head at Elizabeth and raised an eyebrow. “I would say, in fact, that Mr. Darcy appears altogether much happier than the last time we met, though it seems nearly a lifetime ago. He was laughing openly with Charles, and smiling to a degree I confess I have never seen.”

Elizabeth cleared her throat delicately. “Ah, well. Yes.”

“Lizzy?”

“Jane?”

They looked at each other for a long moment until Elizabeth blushed furiously and started to laugh. “Oh, Lizzy, you wretched creature!” Jane exclaimed, laughing along with her sister. “Making me wait in such suspense! Tell me now, truly, is there an understanding between you and Mr. Darcy? Charles seemed to think so; he mentioned it to me last night, but I could not believe him. Yet, he said that Darcy called you by name, which I had missed, and that he was, if I can quote him, ‘looking at her as though he wished to devour her on the spot’.”

Elizabeth gasped. “Jane! I cannot credit that you would repeat such a thing!”

“Well, my dear,” Jane gurgled with suppressed mirth, “you have teased me so mercilessly through the years, and especially over Charles. You cannot expect me to resist a little teasing now that you have evidently lost your own heart, and to Mr. Darcy of all people!”

Elizabeth closed her eyes and sighed happily. “Oh, Jane, he is the most wonderful man! I pray you will forget everything terrible I ever said about him, as a true and loyal sister who loves me.” She opened her eyes and grinned. “And yes, we have an understanding! He spoke with Uncle Gardiner this morning, and Uncle wrote to papa last night. We decided to marry from Longbourn, so that I might see home again before leaving for Darcy House in London, and then Pemberley in the summer. Uncle only plans to remain in Vienna another month, and then we return to England, Darcy with us. The banns will already have been read by the time we arrive, and that should give Mama enough time to arrange everything to her satisfaction, with minimal bother to me. Though I shall owe Papa a long and solitary trip to view Pemberley’s grand library.”

Jane had stared wide-eyed throughout this long exhortation, and at the end of it cried out with joy and fairly leapt across the squabs to throw her arms around Elizabeth. “Oh, Lizzy! Lizzy, I am so happy for you! To think we should both find such happiness!” She pulled back, and sniffed, dabbing the corner of her eyes with her handkerchief. “Heavens, there I go again. I never used to be so easily upset, but...well, it has been a difficult time, and I have missed you greatly.”

Elizabeth frowned. “Dear sister, what has happened? I sensed something was wrong last night, you grew so solemn for a moment. It was quite unlike you.” Come to think on it, Jane had been acting unusual for her since her arrival. She was expressing herself more openly, showing far more emotion than her wont. The fern green walking ensemble had more flair than her usual simple style, and the bonnet was positively flirtatious.

“Let us take some refreshments, Lizzy, and enjoy some music, and then I will tell you my tale. All is well now, but I require some fortification before I am to relive these past few months. In the meantime, do tell me about this delicious dark blue pelisse and bonnet and this walking dress - what do you call that color? Mulberry? I daresay you do look good enough to eat. It shows Mr. Darcy’s excellent taste that he could not take his eyes off of you!”

  
********************

Hoping to catch Elizabeth alone for a few moments, perhaps while Darcy was closeted with Sir Edward, Edmund Fitzwilliam arrived at the Gardiner residence to find Harrington in the morning room, along with a chit introduced as Harrington’s sister. The girl looked vaguely familiar, but he could not immediately place her, other than that she obviously was Harrington’s sister. Fortunately for the girl, she carried the familial features well, and could even be called rather pretty.

He would not mind a bit of flirtation (his musically inclined lady had fallen woefully short of her promised passion, and decided that she would prefer a poet to a soldier - a poet, of all things), yet while Miss Harrington looked at him with a delightful little smile, she was an innocent. Of all things, Edmund Fitzwilliam steered clear of innocents.

“Ah,” he said. “Glad to meet you both here, but I confess I was looking for Miss Bennet. Harrington, have you seen her?”

“Left for the Augarten with Mrs. Bingley. Is this about the business I heard last night from Ogleby? He seemed genuinely concerned about Lady Juliet.”

Edmund cleared his throat and glanced at Miss Harrington with a raised eyebrow. “You can trust my sister, Colonel,” the Major said. “I do; implicitly.”

He might have had his doubts, but then Harrington had expressed doubts at first regarding Elizabeth, after all. Edmund did know that he did trust Harrington with his life, and had done in the past, repeatedly, in some of the bloodiest, worst battles on the Peninsula. There were few men as brave, dependable, honorable, and quick-thinking as the young major. Edmund nodded. “It is. I had wondered if there was any news to be had.”

“Miss Bennet did not mention, though I doubt she would have in front of her sister. Or Olivia,” he added, glancing at his sister, who had been silently watching the exchange between gentlemen. She had a very clear gaze that rested on Edmund frequently, he could practically feel it. Well, the lady would catch cold there. Despite his jests over needing to marry for money, Edmund had no fondness for the parson’s mousetrap, and intended to avoid it as long as he was able.

Eversley was the heir, absurdly healthy, and had a young son, who was also in complete good health and showed every sign of continuing to be so, which suited Edmund. There was truly no need for him to wed. He could take his pleasure where and when he chose, and would suffer no one to whom he needed to answer. Olivia was a very nice name, he found himself thinking. Irritably, he tried to chase the thought away, though it was dashedly difficult when she stood next to him smelling of orange blossoms and vanilla. Its warmth suited her shining, reddish-gold hair.

She did not inject herself into the conversation, though her brow was furrowed in puzzlement, nor asked any questions about their meaning. No doubt she felt her brother would share the pertinent details at a later time. At the offer to ring for refreshment, Edmund shook his head. “No, I apologize, but I must dash. I imagine I shall see you both later at dinner?”

He took his leave after their polite affirmation, feeling somewhat off course and unsure of himself, though just why he should feel such was difficult to determine. He had not slept well the past few days, and perhaps the stress of the lagging Vienna negotiations and the feeling of cooling his heels with nothing purposeful to accomplish was getting to him.

It could certainly have nothing to do with a pretty little thing with bronze hair and soft green eyes and an enticing smile.

  
*************************  
  


“You were correct in your assessment of Caroline’s character,” Jane told Elizabeth, squinting into the bright afternoon sunlight as they walked arm in arm. Their mutual enjoyment of the concert withstanding, Jane could tell that Lizzy was still patiently awaiting some explanation. Well, Jane thought with an inward smile, as patient as Lizzy ever was for information, which was only a little more than Lydia awaiting a new bonnet.

These were not easy things to speak of, and Jane had looked forward to putting her suffering in the past, where it belonged. Truly, she would not have thought to speak of it at all to Lizzy, were it not for the overwhelming and sharp longing for a true sister that had struck her the very moment she had seen Elizabeth the previous evening.

Lizzy had remained quiet, perhaps sensing Jane’s discomfort. She always had been sensitive to Jane’s feelings, even when most others were not. Jane patted her hand and took a deep breath. “I lost my child.” She heard the gasp beside her, and though the memory still was hurtful, there had been so much reclaimed because of it that Jane could not bring herself to mourn anew. She had shed tears, and so very many of them, and that well was now dry. “Do not fret, dear, I am well, or Charles would never have made the journey here, let alone allowed me to come with him. Though, I confess he did try at first, but our good physician persuaded him that I was truly recovered.”

“When?” Elizabeth asked in a low voice.

“August,” Jane answered. “Right after you left. I had hardly time to suspect it, but almost as soon as it could be confirmed, I...well, I miscarried. We still do not know why.”

Elizabeth squeezed Jane’s arm in sympathy, and when she spoke, her voice was hoarse with unshed tears. Dear Lizzy, always feeling the plight of others, especially of Jane, more closely than she felt her own. “You mentioned Caroline Bingley?”

She had tried, truly, to forgive Caroline and Louisa for the pain they had caused her, but she still felt a swell of anger whenever she thought of it. It was still difficult for her to credit the depth of their dislike of her and their cruelty, but then she had learned that they were two of the most selfish creatures ever put on God’s green earth, and had resolved to waste no more time regretting their lack of affection. It hurt for Charles’s sake, but for her own, she would not suffer.

“I was distraught, Lizzy, and not myself. If not for Georgiana bringing Lady Stalton to see me, I do not know...not even our dear Aunt Gardiner could shake me out of the blue devils that had seized me. Lady Stalton, however, she understood. She had lost two children before the Viscount, and a third before Colonel Fitzwilliam was born.” Jane shook her head. “She told me that one of them had been stillborn, and it...oh, it is difficult to put into words, and shall make me sound insensitive of her suffering, but there was a comfort to be found in knowing I was not alone in my pain, that another had felt it and survived it.”

She stopped walking and turned to face her sister, and smiled in comfort when she saw such distress in Elizabeth’s countenance. “Oh, dear heart, do not be so sad on my account, and really, Lizzy, you must not blame yourself for not having been there. What could you have done for me apart from offering hollow comfort? You could not have understood it, not really. I pray, fervently, that you never do.”

Elizabeth nodded in understanding, but Jane could see that she was still unsettled. “Caroline offered a polite sort of comfort at first,” Jane continued, taking Lizzy’s arm once more to walk. Though still cool, the day held an early taste of spring, and Jane found it comforting. Lizzy had always favored the autumn and all the tastes and scents of the harvest, but for Jane early spring and summer held the most delights. “One day, however, the first day that I had ventured out of my bedchamber, I overheard her speaking to Louisa. I should not repeat their words, and they should not have been discussing it, but Lizzy, they were speaking of Charles visiting his mistress.”

“No!” Lizzy protested, shocked.

“It is not true, dearest, it never was. They also spoke of the intent to annul our marriage if I was proven unable to carry a child, or divorce,” Jane waved an irritated hand. “Some such nonsense at any rate, and I can see it now for the vile lie that it was, but I could not then. I was still so shaken, weak physically and emotionally, and I confess that at that moment, my dear, I thought my world had ended.” She swallowed past a suddenly burning throat. “I love Charles, Lizzy. You could always see that I preferred him, but I do not know that even you knew the depth to which I care. It had only grown over the course of our marriage, and I felt as though the very earth had dropped beneath my feet. I knew he loved me, but I blamed myself for the loss of our child, and could not see that he held me at no fault.”

Jane disentangled herself for a moment from Elizabeth and gathered herself together. It would be especially difficult to speak of what had come next, for it all seemed so dramatic, so overly unnecessary and absurd, but it had not then. She had been in the grips of a deep grief, her heart broken and her will diminished. Lady Stalton had pointed out to Jane that she could not be expected to see clearly, as pain could cloud the vision and dull the sharpest of senses.

“Charles,” Jane continued to explain, “had kept himself apart from me through all of this, fearing that his presence would only remind me of what we had lost, and cause further harm. Through my own suffering, I could not see how he was also wounded, from the loss and from my own illness. I took to my bed again, and I...Lizzy, I am ashamed to confess it, but I began to find some measure of solace in wine. I could dull my feelings, lull myself to sleep. I had my maid smuggle bottles up to me from the pantry.”

“Jane,” Lizzy breathed.

“It worked out for the better, you see, though, for if it had been something else, perhaps Charles would never have found out and I would have done something incredibly foolish. As it was, Langren, our butler, he noticed that there were bottles missing and caught Sarah in the act. She tearfully confessed everything to him, only having stayed silent so long out of loyalty to me and fear over the reaction of the London staff - we were in London, did I mention? Thankfully so; Mama’s advice was difficult enough to bear through letters.”

She sighed. “Langren went to Charles, and Charles confronted me. Oh, Lizzy, he was so desperately afraid and worried. I have never seen him in such a state. I said dreadful, hateful things to him, and he merely stood there, silent, watching me as though I were a stranger. When he was finally able to make out the cause of my distress, he was furious. I did not know him capable of such temper, but he left me and raged at Caroline, demanding that she leave immediately for the Hursts’ and ordering all her things to be packed. She obeyed, for I doubt even she had known her brother to be capable of such anger.”

“But his anger was not with you?” Elizabeth asked, concerned.

“No, no indeed. Far from it.” Jane smiled. “I am sorry for the pain caused with this rift in his family, but because of it he and I have grown to know each other more intimately than ever before. I will tell you this, for you will soon be married yourself and must learn to make a new life with a man, and it can be difficult - far more difficult than I had ever expected. I can see that you love Darcy as well as I love Charles, and as grand as love and passion can be, they are not enough.” She shook her head. “I do not believe Charles and I ever knew our true selves before that night. We learned to share our pain, to gather strength from each other. ‘In sickness as in health’ now has more meaning for me, for I have lived its truth.”

There were moments she would not share with Lizzy, moments that were private and precious; the way Charles had held her as her body wracked with sobs, the way he had tenderly cared for her after she had been embarrassingly ill, how he slept beside her and stroked her hair each time she shuddered through a nightmare. He had sent her maid away and bathed her himself the following morning and refused to eat unless she ate something with him. He had harried and cajoled and threatened and pleaded every step of the way until she had finally once more begun to feel like herself, though she had still been fragile and prone to fits of melancholia for a while - and still could be on occasion now.

He had sought Lady Stalton’s advice, once he knew of her visits to Jane, and that good lady had advised him to simply stay with her, as often as he could. Charles had taken her at her word, and even though it had driven her nearly to distraction, he would not let Jane be. If only because she was exhausted with his constant questioning, she had begun to prod him in return, and discovered that he felt keenly the lack of a useful occupation. Lady Stalton had carried this to her husband, and Lord Stalton had taken Charles under his wing in politics, persuading him to run for a seat in the House of Commons, to take an interest in foreign affairs.

To all of their surprise, Charles included, he excelled at it, particularly at negotiation. The crucible they had gone through had formed a bit of steel in him, but he was still the amiable, energetic fellow to which people were drawn, and so diplomacy felt like a natural calling. With Lady Stalton’s guidance, Jane had given a few political dinners, and they had been exclaimed a resounding success, and thus Mr. and Mrs. Bingley had discovered a new and surprising common ground of interest.

Jane had been shocked at the degree it altered their intimacy. If pressed, she would have admitted that previously she had felt some enjoyment from the activity of the marriage bed, but had not allowed herself to feel anything that she feared was indecent. Charles had treated her kindly, gently, and while she enjoyed being held in his arms and listening to his heartbeat, the rest of it had only caused her acute embarrassment.

Now, though...now when he looked at her a certain way, she could feel her toes curl in her slippers. When they had finally made love again for the first time since her miscarriage, the heat and passion had shocked her. It was as though in having very nearly lost each other, they now could not touch enough, feel enough, taste enough. There were no more reservations between them, no demure barriers. Jane had resolved to never hide her heart from him, and he had vowed to never withdraw from her side again. Even if she could never conceive another child, she had been given this precious gift, and it would be enough.

“We are well now, Lizzy,” Jane assured her sister. “Lady Stalton believes that those who have lived through tragedy perchance might value happiness even more dear than those who have not. I do not know if it is true, but I am happy. It is not a fairy tale, I confess to you, but my eyes are open to the world, and that includes good tidings as well as bad. I am determined to take my joy as I find it, and take comfort in the fact that I shall not have to bear misery alone. I did not know it at the time of my wedding,” she said with finality as they approached the carriage, “but it is possible for a love to continue to grow, even past the point where you would swear your heart had no room left to fill.”

 

********************

 

Elizabeth’s mind was full of Jane’s confession as she dressed for dinner, donning the gown that her sister and Miss Harrington had gleefully helped choose out of her wardrobe. There was nothing so uniting amongst women as the fussing over fashion. Maisie finished her ministrations, threading a dark green and wine-colored ribbon through Elizabeth’s hair that was the same velvet adorning the high waistline of the gold tissue dress. She had worn it for Christmas dinner, but only Colonel Fitzwilliam and Major Harrington had seen it before, and they had not seen it with the addition of the ribbon.

She clasped a pretty necklace of simple garnets that had been a birthday present from Jane around her neck, and smiled. They indeed matched the ribbon perfectly and set off the light gold of the gown. She pulled on her satin gloves, looking forward to Darcy’s arrival even more than she had that morning.

Reflection upon her sister had brought her own feelings for Darcy to the forefront of her thoughts, and she felt again how very fortunate she was in his affections. She was pleased with her brother Bingley’s support of his wife, and instinctively felt that she could expect the same from Darcy, should - heaven forbid - the need arise to sustain each other through tragedy. They had each already suffered on account of the other, and had come out the stronger for it.

She walked down the stairs with Olivia, who really was a darling girl and had a sense of humor that marched nicely with Elizabeth’s, which was most obliging in a houseguest. Darcy had let slip Georgiana’s confession that the girl had formed a tendre for Edmund, and Elizabeth was thrilled at the chance to tweak the Colonel’s nose a bit; provided, of course, that it would not hurt Olivia. She did fear that the good Colonel’s heart was unreachable, but just in case it was not, she would do everything in her power to assist Miss Harrington’s pursuit of happiness.

Olivia looked a lovely treat in a gown of lilac silk with a deep rose ribbon and a white Brussels lace collar. A simple strand of pearls lay enticingly across a wide swath of creamy skin; having less of a bosom than a woman like Elizabeth meant that the girl could pull off lower necklines with aplomb and not look the least bit indecent. Something told Elizabeth that Olivia knew well the effect of her looks, and that this ensemble had been chosen with purpose.

They joined her uncle and Major Harrington in the drawing room just in time for Darcy and his guests to arrive, along with Colonel Fitzwilliam. Her eyes sought William and she was instantly rewarded with a slow smile of appreciation that heated her skin thoroughly and made her very fingertips tingle.

He had just approached her to speak when the drawing room door opened and an unusually flustered Partridge entered with Lord Etienne D’Arcy hard upon his heels. The baron was pale, even for him, and his eyes were wide and wild. His gaze sought William and when he found him, he began speaking in rapid French, too quick for Elizabeth to catch more than one word in ten. She saw Harrington and Fitzwilliam stiffen, and Olivia’s eyes went wide. Bingley frowned as though he had caught the basic tenor of the conversation but could not quite fathom the details.

Darcy gripped Etienne’s shoulders and urged him to calm down, to speak more clearly, and then he did, at last, speak at a pace Elizabeth could understand, and she felt as though it must be some kind of ill-manner joke, for it could surely not be true.

“Come, quickly,” the baron said, urgently, fear evident in every line of his face, “he is dead. He is dead,” D’Arcy repeated, gasping. “I tried, but she will not speak to me, she will not open the door even for her maid. Cousin, I beg you, help me.”

William gripped Etienne’s shoulders even tighter and tried to calm the other man down. “Etienne, of course, but please tell me what you need. I do not understand.”

“Juliet. It is Juliet. She was summoned to see our father, our stepfather, the Comte. Only, when she returned, she would not speak to me, she shut herself in room and would not open it even for her maid. I went to see him.” The baron shuddered, a haunted, terrified look in his eyes. “Cousin, he is dead. The Comte is dead. He has been _assassiné_.”

“He has been what?” Elizabeth asked, not understanding at first.

Darcy turned to her, disbelief evident in his own expression. “He has been murdered.”

 

*********************

TBC

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

“Damnation,” Castlereagh muttered.

Utter silence reigned after this exclamation, neither Darcy nor Fitzwilliam finding it within themselves to clutter the air with words. There was nothing much that needed to be said; the evidence was there, before them all, in plain view.

“I will say this once, gentlemen,” his lordship said, after that heavy pause, “and once only. This was suicide.”

Darcy inhaled sharply, and then promptly regretted the action. Blood and...other things he dared not think of cluttered the air, befouling the beautiful woodwork of the Comte de Montilvert’s rented library. For a wild moment, he imagined the owners of the house attempting to let it once more, motioning to prospective tenants the vast and airy room. _Yes_ , they might say, _this is where the Comte de Montilvert ended his life, mostly tragically_.

It did look as though he had taken his own life, Darcy had to admit. There was the pistol, the note. Yet nothing Darcy had ever known of the man would have led him to believe such an end. He shook his head sadly, then became aware of Edmund’s sharp stare. He could read the warning in his cousin’s eyes.

Darcy cleared his throat. “I would not have expected it. Sad end.”

Castlereagh stared at him for a long, uncomfortable moment, then finally nodded once, sharply. “Yes, indeed. Colonel Fitzwilliam, you’ll get this squared away before Talleyrand catches wind of it?”

Edmund agreed, and Castlereagh turned away from them. “What about the stepchildren? Darcy, you will see to them?”

“‘See to them’?” Darcy echoed before his sense caught up with his tongue.

“Their silence, man,” Castlereagh hissed, turning around. “Can you keep them from making a fuss?”

“Yes, of course,” Darcy agreed, both to assure Castlereagh of his loyalty, and because it was best to keep Etienne out of anything political. The boy was greener than grass.

Castlereagh left them then, and Edmund pulled on Darcy’s arm. “Come, William, come away.” Darcy hadn’t realized until he felt the pressure of his cousin’s hand that he had been staring at what was left of Montilvert’s head. It was strange, he reflected. The Comte’s body, so vital and present in life, no longer seemed real. It was as though someone had created a duplicate of a man out of gore and meat.

He let Edmund tug him out into the hall, and there the Colonel left him to disappear into the bowels of the house, no doubt to enlist some men to make arrangements. Heavens, how did one even accomplish that? Where did one find such men? How did Edmund even know? Darcy leaned against the doorjamb leading into the dining room. The doors were open, the service laid. He frowned. There were two place settings. Whom was the Comte expecting for dinner?

His frown deepened. Why would a man take his own life minutes before expecting a dinner guest? It could not have been Etienne, his arrival was unexpected - he had only journeyed to his stepfather’s house to confront him over what had been said to Juliet. Juliet herself had been summoned well before the dinner hour.

Had the Comte arranged a marriage for Juliet, Darcy wondered? He had been expecting something of the kind, though his cousin seemed terrified at the prospect of matrimony. She had only begun to relax even a little in his own presence once he made certain that he had no intentions towards her.

Against his better judgement, Darcy edged back toward the library, covering his nose with a handkerchief from his pocket. Georgiana had given it to him just that morning, and conveniently, it still smelled of the lavender water she preferred. He looked inside with fresh eyes, sharper eyes and a shiver of apprehension ran up his spine as he noticed what he should have noticed first.

The pistol was in Montilvert’s right hand. While the man had always written with that hand, as everyone did, Darcy knew first hand that he never fired a weapon with anything other than his left. It gave him greater control, and there was nothing the Comte loved so dearly as control.

And the note…

Footsteps distracted him, and he left once more to stand in the hall. Fitzwilliam took his arm and they did not speak until they were once more alone in a non-descript cab, different from the one in which they’d arrived. Edmund had let three pass by before he had flagged down the fourth, which had seemed odd to Darcy until he saw the driver nod at his cousin. It all made sense - Fitzwilliam must have a network of men (and women) who worked for him, at all various levels of society. It was a simple answer to how his cousin seemed to always be well-informed, and yet such had never occurred to Darcy.

Most likely, he admitted privately, because he never would have thought to speak much to anyone outside his own class.

The night was chill and damp, and Darcy shuddered into his overcoat. The colonel seemed troubled, but not overly affected. With a dawning horror, Darcy realized for the first time how truly wretched the battlefields of Spain must have been. That was the first - and he could only desperately hope, last - time Darcy had ever seen a life ended by such violence, but Edmund must have seen countless. How much worse to be there at the very moment when a breathing man became a body, a tangle of bloody limbs and carnage? How much worse when those men were friends, comrades? To know it could have been you but for a handful of inches?

He looked at his cousin with new empathy. Things had been different in Toulouse; Darcy had been kept well away from the fighting. There had been Mariette, of course, but that had not been the same. She had been cleaned, her body prepared for burial, and her end had been one of illness, not violence. Seeing her shrouded had been much like his parents. Grief Darcy was accustomed to; it was violence that he was not.

Strange, the connection of marriage that bound those two wholly different people; Mariette and Montilvert. She had been astoundingly beautiful in life, and Darcy could well understand a man’s attraction to such a delicate flower of femininity as Mariette appeared. There was, however - and as her son had noted - a core of steel in her. Perhaps as Etienne believed, there was more in common with the Comte and his Comtesse than Darcy had thought.

Fitzwilliam looked troubled. “Darcy,” he began, then frowned before he tried again. “Cousin, I am...concerned.”

Darcy inclined his head, waiting. When Edmund showed reluctance to speak and shortage of words, the subject matter was likely very serious, and he would not take kindly to interruption.

His cousin’s worried eyes found his. “Darcy, I think we both know that there is something troubling in Montilvert’s death. I assure you that I do not take that lightly, nor does his lordship. We shall circulate some story about his political disappointments, and how they were too much for him to bear, but I will still be tasked with discovering as much as I can of the truth behind his death. If for no other reason, the information might be useful.” He held up a hand to forestall Darcy’s protest. “You know more of me, I hope, Cousin. I fear that whatever evil is behind this night’s work might target Etienne and even Juliet, and God forbid, I fear for your safety as well.”

Edmund leaned forward and clasped Darcy’s arm. “Listen to me, Will. We will go and collect Lizzy, discover what she had learned, and then both you and she will steer damned clear of their abode from now until you return to England. See them in public; do not cut the acquaintance by any means, but do not be alone with them. I do not think them capable of this, and nor do you, but I will not have either of you thrown onto whatever madman’s path they’ve stumbled upon.” His grip tightened. “Furthermore, Darcy, you must not be seen questioning the Comte’s death. Neither of you can, not if you wish to return to England.”

Darcy felt as though he had been plunged into an icy lake. His cousin’s words penetrated the fog of disbelief that had crowded his mind until that point, and suddenly he no longer felt so detached from the situation. This was a dire time, indeed, and everything Darcy held dear - his home, his family, Elizabeth - was at risk.

“You have my word, Edmund.”

  
***********************  
  


For the umpteenth time that evening, Elizabeth wished she had heeded her French lessons with more interest. She had practiced relentlessly with her uncle on the journey to Vienna, and being quick of study, she had gained enough command of the language to be of use - far more, she suspected, than many society misses retained beyond the pronunciation of food and fashion.

Nothing, however, had prepared her for deciphering the cries of an overwrought young woman sobbing into her pillow. Elizabeth caught perhaps one word in five, but enough to feel a sense of relief that as yet, Juliet D’Arcy knew nothing of her stepfather’s untimely demise.

That she put in the back of her thoughts; her foremost concern was to calm the hysterical Juliet before the girl made herself ill. Elizabeth perched on the edge of Juliet’s bed, trying to reason with her, but there was no indication that her soft words of comfort were heeded. Elizabeth sighed.

She remembered when her youngest sister was a small child; Lydia could work herself into terrifying rages and fits when she was crossed or denied something, especially if she felt ignored. Only Jane had ever been able to calm her, but then Jane had ever been the sister most capable of checking her own temper. Often by that time, Lydia had severely tried everyone else’s patience. When asked her secret to stopping their little sister’s fits, Jane had shrugged to Lizzy and replied that she merely held the girl until she stopped crying and listened to her without saying anything. That was all Lydia truly wanted: to be heard.

Elizabeth reached out and touched Juliet’s arm. The other woman flinched at first, but then relaxed under the soothing strokes after a moment. Elizabeth was careful not to show any surprised reaction, but that little motion told a story. Georgiana had flinched similarly when first exposed to the rowdy young Bennet sisters and their more physical affections. Kitty and Lydia were forever poking each other and linking arms and giggling shoulder to shoulder. Georgiana had not been used to much physical affection apart from the occasional brotherly embrace, and it had startled her.

Eventually, after gentle coaxing, Elizabeth wound up with Juliet’s head pillowed in her lap while she rested against the headboard, gently stroking the distraught woman’s hair in soft, comforting motions. Her other arm cradled Juliet’s shoulder, as though she were a small child and not a young woman of twenty. After what seemed an eternity, during which Elizabeth sent away Juliet’s maid with a shake of her head twice, the woman finally began to calm.

“I am sorry,” she said at last, in French, “this is a beautiful silk and I have ruined it with tear stains.”

Elizabeth continued stroking Juliet’s hair. “It is no trial, _cherie_ , I have others.”

“You have been so kind, and yet you hardly know me.” Juliet began to sit up. She was still in her day gown, though she was wrapped up in the counterpane. She continued to clutch it about her as she drew her feet beneath her and leaned against the headboard beside Elizabeth.

“I have four sisters, and we are all close in age. It comes naturally to me to assist when someone is in trouble, you see. I have forever been rescuing my youngest sisters from their escapades. Though I admit it was much easier when it was merely a skinned knee or a stained dress.” Elizabeth smiled, and was encouraged to see the corner of Juliet’s lips lift.

“Etienne was never in trouble as a child. I was, though,” she amended softly. “Often.”

“You are in no trouble now,” Elizabeth said, taking the other woman’s hand in hers. “I will not press you for that which you do not wish to confide.”

“You are to marry my English cousin, yes? Tell me, are you afraid?”

The question was asked in such a tremulous voice that Elizabeth took the time to fully consider it, not merely laughing off that there was nothing to be afraid of with Darcy. She had some suspicions as to the nature of Juliet’s upset, and wanted to answer carefully. “I am not afraid of him, or of...intimacy with him. There is enough knowledge and trust between us, and I am fortunate in that. Many women are not. I am afraid of how my life will change, but I also welcome it; while I will say goodbye to what my life has been until this point, I will be gaining the company of my love, and a new life to share with him.”

She was silent for a bit, plucking at the embroidered flowers on the counterpane. “That is what I would wish, if I must marry.” Juliet shook her head and drew a deep, shaking breath. “But I have always known, always been told, that I will be sold to the highest bidder. That is my only worth - the price that I can fetch my family for my hand. The rest of me, as well, I suppose.”

Elizabeth wanted to deny it, but she knew that such was often the way with aristocracy. “Your stepfather arranged a match?”

Juliet sighed. “It is not final, but he has found me someone suitable. I do not know him. It is possible he will be kind, but…” She seemed to shrink in upon herself, pulling the blankets closer. “I know what men do when they are unkind.”

The breath seemed to still in Elizabeth’s chest as the implications of that sentence became clear. She swallowed with some difficulty and asked the question she knew must be asked. “Juliet, was someone unkind to you?”

Juliet shook her head, and Elizabeth felt a small sense of relief. “My parents,” Juliet explained. “They were not...they did not have a happy marriage. He was brutal to her; I saw it. I went to find Mama one day when I was small, and I hid when I heard his voice. They did not know I was there. He beat her, called her horrible things. When I was older, he did not...he did not touch me, but he said horrible things to me, too, though Mama would try and shield me from it. He said that I was not his child, I was the child of a whore, and that he would sell me for the highest price, just like a whore. He would find a man who would use me like the worthless rag I am.”

There was nothing Elizabeth could say in reply, such was her horror. “Montilvert is a better father,” Juliet continued, “and so I should be grateful. He ignores me, primarily, but I am happy to be ignored and forgotten. My needs are seen to, I have plenty of money for my wardrobe, and I am allowed to stay with my brother. Yet, I have always known that my worth to Montilvert lies in what I can fetch for a bride price. The husband he found for me may be kind, but Miss Bennet...does that make me any less of a whore?”

  
*************************  
  


It was well after midnight when the parlor door opened to admit Darcy and Fitzwilliam. Elizabeth had changed out of the tear-soaked gold silk and donned a warmer gown of dove gray wool, exchanging full dress for half when she’d arrived back home. No one in the parlor would judge her for it, and indeed no one noticed save Jane, who complimented the color.

They sat in quiet conversation; herself, Jane and Charles, Olivia and her brother, Georgiana, and Mr. Gardiner. No one had the heart for cards or music, nor any reason to pretend that they were not merely awaiting news and instructions.

Darcy looked as tired as she felt, though his eyes immediately sought hers. She reached out her hands and he took them, squeezing them gently before they all seated themselves. “How is Lady D’Arcy?” the Colonel asked, in order to begin the conversation after an uncomfortable pause. “Is she well? The baron intimated that she was hysterical.”

Elizabeth understood precisely what he was asking, as did Darcy, by the eyebrow he arched at his cousin. Fitzwilliam tossed them both a small shrug that indicated he would not spare anyone’s finer feelings. “She was, when I found her,” Elizabeth supplied, deciding to ease the tension. “I could barely understand her at first, but then it became clear that she was upset at Montilvert’s decree that he had found her a suitable husband.”

“Whom was it to be? I had heard nothing,” Dacy said with a frown. “Not that I was Montilvert’s confidant, but he knew I took an interest in Etienne and Juliet.”

“I am surprised he did not try to wed her to you,” Elizabeth mused. “It would have made sense, from his view. You are not titled, but you are well-connected and well to grass, with extensive holdings.”

Darcy snorted. “He tried. I put an end to that line of thought quickly.”

Elizabeth offered him a brief smile of understanding, but forebore commenting on her gratitude that he had done so, in front of her guests, at least. “I believe the gentleman’s name is Guy Montclaire. No title, himself, but a similar situation to yours, Darcy. Well-connected to the current regime, but of more modest stock, and thus was able to avoid the guillotine and profit rather handsomely off shipping interests during the war.”

“I know of him,” her uncle said, “and that is a polite way to say that Montclaire is a smuggler, and made his living off selling brandy to England in exchange for cash, which he then funneled the remainder of into the former Colonies, from which he bought guns for the French army. If he bought enough guns with his profits, you see, the authorities would leave his operation in relative peace. Though I have heard now that he has established a legitimate trade in spices from India.”

Darcy’s eyebrows had raised. “That is surprising, I admit. Though if his pockets were deep enough, that would account for it. Living in exile has not been without its expenditures for Montilvert. Etienne still holds the titles for his lands, ostensibly, but he has not seen a farthing of that income in years.”

“Did Lady Juliet know of her stepfather’s death, Miss Bennet?” Miss Harrington’s clear voice cut through the marital musings. Edmund tossed her a sharp glance, but it was the question he wished answered. Miss Harrington paid him no heed, instead watching Elizabeth with eyes that were full of compassion. There were hidden depths to that girl.

Elizabeth shook her head. “No, it was clear from her conversation that she had no idea.”

“But you did not press her,” Edmund stated.

Elizabeth turned and gave him a stern look. “No, I did not judge it either prudent or useful. She would have withdrawn.” The colonel held up a hand in defeat, acknowledging her point. “I spoke with Baron D’Arcy, and suggested that he speak to his sister with the news gently this evening, taking care to reassure her that he has no intention to push her into an unwanted marriage, and that she is safe with him.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam nodded. “I will call on the baron on my way home; I sent a note around earlier and he is expecting me. I am going to tell you all now the official assessment of the coroner will be that Montilvert took his own life. That is all with which we are to concern ourselves, and such will be the topic of any and all gossip regarding the Comte’s death. There is to be no mention of the D’Arcy siblings, save with pity for their poor stepfather’s ill fortune and regrettable decision.”

Elizabeth’s eyes widened, but it was Miss Harrington who spoke softly, “But you have your doubts, Colonel?”

He speared her with a look, but she showed no reaction, merely raised a questioning eyebrow and shrugging delicately. “It is clear from your tone that you do. Pay no mind; I will follow your edict to the letter, sir. I merely wish to ascertain if there is any threat, and if there is, what you will do about it?”

There was a dangerous glint in Edmund’s eyes, but Miss Harrington either did not notice or did not care. Her brother merely watched her, as aware as Elizabeth that Colonel Fitzwilliam was not a man whose decisions were lightly questioned. Yet Harrington seemed unconcerned for his sister, though Georgiana and Darcy looked uncomfortable.

“What _I_ will do about it, Miss Harrington?” he repeated softly.

Olivia inclined her head slightly and frowned. “Yes, of course, you are quite correct; I have no right to pry. Pay me no heed, Colonel, I simply have a regrettable tendency to speak my mind.” She sank back into the cushions and shifted her gaze away from Edmund, who had the grace to look at least slightly chagrined that he had glared at a lady. Elizabeth kept her eyes on Miss Harrington, however, and noted the young woman looked anything but embarrassed. Rather, she looked thoughtful.

“It has been a long and unsettling evening for all,” Jane said quietly, ever the voice of reason. “I suggest we take the Colonel’s good advice to heart. Perhaps there need be no further discussion tonight?”

Darcy roused himself. “Yes, of course, Mrs. Bingley. You are quite correct.”

“I concur.” Mr. Gardiner nodded. “Let us leave the matter to those who would directly concern themselves with it. The less we know of the particulars, the less we are likely to let slip.”

All rapidly agreed, and rose to take leave of each other for the evening. Darcy drew Elizabeth to the side. “I cannot thank you enough for your assistance,” he said softly. His warm hand rested upon her elbow, and though he could not take her in his arms in a room full of people, the warm appreciation in his gaze was enough. “You did not have to concern yourself with Juliet.”

“No,” she agreed, smiling, “I did not, I suppose. Yet I am obliged to follow my heart, and my heart would follow you, and in its trail comes obligation. Such is the nature of devotion.”

“I must admit defeat here and now, for I am too exhausted to battle in clever words. I will only say that I love you, and that I am grateful beyond measure for your kind and caring heart.” He pressed his lips briefly to her fingers, and after bidding the others good evening, he took Jane, Bingley, and Georgiana with him and departed.

Miss Harrington escorted her brother into the hall to bid him goodnight before she retired, leaving Elizabeth alone with her uncle, and the Colonel, who looked every inch as tired as she felt. “How did you manage to calm the Baron, Uncle?” she asked.

“A judicious amount of brandy and a patient tone. He seemed surprised when I neglected to take him to task over anything. He must have spent at least half his life being scolded over every little thing.” Sir Edward shook his head, sadly. “Do not envy titles or positions of power, Lizzy. I do not think you - or I - would care to pay the price that accompanies it.”

Elizabeth shuddered. “I am troubled by this, Uncle.”

“As am I, my dear.” He squeezed her shoulder in comfort. “We must tread very carefully now. Remember that we are as gnats to these people; we are of little importance on this grand stage. There are those who would care very little what might befall us should we happen to cross their path.”

She sighed. “Yes, of course. With that in mind, I think I shall bid you gentlemen a good evening.” She excused herself, troubled, and hoped fervently that she would at least get some sleep through the fears that would likely plague her until daylight.

  
***********************  
  


Olivia Harrington placed a hand on her brother’s arm, slowing his pace before they would be approached by the footman with Joshua’s hat and coat. “I know what you are going to ask me, sister, and the answer is ‘no’,” he whispered.

“Are you certain?” she inquired, and held up a hand to forestall his protest. “Joshua, please, I do not ask out of curiosity. For heaven’s sake, I have seen murdered men before; it would not be my first. That is, in point of fact, the only reason I offer my services.”

“Your services!” he hissed. “It was a mild curiosity and a way to spend time with Grandfather when I left England! Even then, it was unsuitable at best. And what do you bloody well mean, you have seen murdered men before?”

“Joshua! Mind your tongue, and you volume.” She placed her hands on her hips and sighed. “How many years has it been since you truly were home? How many years since we spoke, at length, over anything that has truly mattered to us? We are as strangers to each other now, brother, and that sits ill with me. It is why I came to Vienna.”

His eyes narrowed. “Is it?”

Olivia bit her lip. “Well, yes. Mostly.” She sighed. “I had also hoped to travel on to Italy, but that is a discussion for another time. For the present, if you wish me to examine the corpse, I believe it would be of use. As I said, and I will give you the details later, I promise, but this would not be the first case of death by violence I have seen. I have had papers published on the subject, for heaven’s sake. Under a pseudonym, naturally, but they were still my work.”

“Olivia…”

The sound of footsteps interrupted them. “Goodnight, Joshua. Call tomorrow, will you?”

Her brother gave her one last, pointed look before donning his hat. She turned when the footman closed the door, expecting to see Elizabeth Bennet and hoping to have a few words. Miss Bennet was a highly intelligent woman, and Olivia wished to know her better. There were few females whom she could count as friends. Few people of either gender, really, if she were honest with herself. Her brother and Georgiana Darcy were the only two upon whom she’d ever bestowed a confidence, let alone shared any measure of companionship.

It was not Miss Bennet, however, but that damnable man who occupied nearly every moment of her thoughts - that obtuse, hateful man who had never paid her more than the simplest courtesy, yet somehow managed to walk away with her supposedly sensible but utterly traitorous heart.

“Colonel Fitzwilliam,” she said softly, offering him a polite curtsey. He was not even handsome! Not fashionably so, like Colonel Ogleby or Captain Stewart. He was too tall, too broad of shoulder. There was something almost swarthy about the man, as though he wouldn’t seem out of place working in a shipyard.

Though his cousin Mr. Darcy was tall, as well, and broad of shoulder, that gentleman appeared fairly slender - much like the build of a greyhound, deceptively strong and quick. She would lay money that Mr. Darcy likely fenced for his exercise, rather than boxed, and possessed no small skill.

The Colonel was a mastiff of a man. There was nothing deceptive about him; he was a man built for strength, for rough work. It was small wonder he found employment as a soldier over the law, church, or medicine. Little else would suit such as he.

He bowed, and she reflected that she could not find fault with his manners. A polished mastiff, then. As that thought nearly broke her careful control into dangerous giggles, Olivia mentally shook herself. It was late, everyone was exhausted, and she was letting her whims run away with her.

She excused herself and brushed past him, but he turned and followed her around the bend in the hall, away from the eyes of the footman at the door. “Miss Harrington?” he called softly.

Olivia closed her eyes briefly, cursing the effect his voice had upon her senses. She had jested with Georgiana that she meant to have him, this enigma of a man, but truly, Olivia doubted there existed such a woman as could hold him for long. It would not be she; not with her peculiar ways and interests, her bran complexion, her slenderness. He would want a woman that was more...womanly. Not one with bright ginger hair and a nose that entered a room before the rest of her.

She turned, and he appeared confused. “Is there a matter in which I can assist you, Colonel?”

“I...no, I am sorry to keep you. I only…” He shook his head and turned away for a moment, before turning back with an inscrutable look upon his face. “I wanted to assure you, Miss Harrington, that I am looking into this matter with the gravest of concerns. You need have no fear.”

“I spoke out of turn, Colonel. You are an honorable man; I know you to be so, and even if I did not, Joshua’s word is what I trust most in this world. Of course you are addressing this situation with all due gravity. I do not fear. I never have, not for myself.” It was then that she realized that the heat beneath her fingers was that of his forearm. She had reached out to him in a familiar gesture of comfort. She did not immediately pull back her fingers.

“You need have no fear for Harrington, either, I promise you.” He said softly.

She met his gaze evenly. “Yes, of course, I thank you.” _And yourself? Will I need have no fear for you, Colonel Fitzwilliam? That seems unlikely._ She pulled her fingers away. “Good night, Colonel.”

“Good night, Miss Harrington.”

  
********************************  
  


Darcy stood before the fire in his library and rubbed his eyes with a weary hand. The brandy had done its work and slowed his thoughts enough that his bed might manage to offer him some rest, after all. His mind had been far too muddled for sleep upon arrival, and he had ordered a brandy in the library and his man Godley to sleep, in that order.

The door opened without a knock and Darcy turned, surprised to see an equally weary but still dressed Bingley. “Darcy,” he acknowledged. “I thought you might still be awake.”

“What troubles you, Bingley? How can I be of service?” Bingley lifted a hand to forestall any further questioning, and reached into his jacket to remove what looked to be a fat letter wrapped in oil skin. He pressed it into Darcy’s hands.

“I have brought this to you from your uncle, Lord Stalton, in London. He felt, upon reviewing some of your missives, that this was information you ought to have in your further dealings. Initially, he asked me to...well, to break it to you as gently as I could, and as quietly, but I’m afraid the situation has altered, and far more rapidly than anyone could have anticipated.” Bingley offered him a small, wan smile that did not reach his eyes. “Besides, had I continued to withhold this information and parcel it out to you piecemeal, you’d have my hide, and while I fancy this library, I do not fancy it enough to wish to adorn its armchair for the rest of time.”

Darcy frowned, his senses once more alert at the tone in Bingley’s voice. “You alarm me.”

Bingley began to shake his head, then paused and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I wish to tell you that you need not be so, but I fear I cannot. I do not know how you should feel, Darcy. I am not equal to dictating such emotion.” He sighed. “You must simply read your uncle’s missive and decide for yourself. I shall be on hand in the morning for you to question, should you need, though honestly, I know precious little beyond what that letter contains. Lord Stalton merely had me read it and memorize it so that I could repeat it to you, should it become lost in our travels.”

“Bingley…”

The other man clapped Darcy on the shoulder and poured him another brandy. “Read, man. Then we shall talk.”

 

*****************

TBC

 


	9. Chapter 9

The morning dawned bright and clear, a cheerful blue sky adorning the shining, crowded rooftops of Vienna. It felt almost perverse in light of the night’s events. Elizabeth sighed and pulled her dressing gown more tightly about her waist. The draft from the window was wretched, but she found the fireside stifling. Her mind already felt wrapped in wool from a lack of sleep.

A knock at the door and her maid entered, her face pinched and worried. “Maisie?” Elizabeth prompted when the maid closed the door.

“Ma’am, Mr. Darcy is downstairs in the parlor waiting for you.”

Elizabeth started. It could not be much past dawn—Darcy would have had to be awake long before daybreak in order to arrive dressed and presentable. “He is?”

“Begging your pardon, Miss Elizabeth, but he looks something terrible. He’s very pale, and I don’t think he slept at all. He’s still in his coat from dinner.” As she spoke, Maisie quickly pulled out the dark blue stuff gown and gave it a quick brush. Elizabeth was half tempted to dart downstairs before changing, but if anyone other than Darcy happened upon her, it simply would not do. She had her guest to consider, after all.

She tore off her dressing gown and nightshirt and buttoned the stuff gown in nearly half the usual time. Maisie tied a muslin fichu around her neck against the downstairs chill while Elizabeth twisted her plait into a simple chignon and jabbed pins into it. It could only have taken her six or seven minutes at most, but Darcy was pacing in front of the parlor fire in agitation.

He turned around as Partridge opened the door for her, and he did indeed look truly wretched. Elizabeth murmured a few instructions to the estimable butler, who quickly disappeared down the hall to fetch a pot of coffee and a few rolls. Darcy reached for her in nearly the same instant as she stepped forward with her arms open. She found herself hauled against his chest and cradled as though they had not seen each other for months.

He was utterly silent. She could tell that some strong emotion held sway over him. It was difficult, but she swallowed her fear at his state and caressed the span of his strong back until he drew in a long,shaking breath. “I am sorry,” he whispered to her hair, at last. “I should not have woken you.”

“I was already awake, Will,” she said, taking his hands and pulling him into a chair by the fire. She sat upon the footstool so that she might continue to hold his cold fingers between her warmer palms. “What is the matter? Please tell me.”

He blinked at her. “Heavens, I must have frightened you. I am sorry.”

She smiled gently at him. “You have already apologized once, so let us assume those words will stand for any continuing offense this morning. What is the matter, dearest? Please tell me so that I may help you.”

Darcy reached to cup her face. “Yes, this is why I need you. Perhaps you can make sense of it; I cannot understand. It is too much, and I must decide what is the best course of action, but I...I do not know what to do.” He reached into his coat and removed what looked to be a thick letter. “I received this from my uncle—Bingley brought it. It seems to be the primary reason for their journey.”

Elizabeth frowned. “I do not understand. Is someone ill? Would it not have traveled faster by post?”

“No, no one is ill. I cannot say whether it would have traveled faster, but my uncle certainly did not care to risk its loss. He had Bingley memorize it so that he might repeat the contents should the letter go missing.”

“Heavens!” Elizabeth exclaimed. “Is it something to do with the negotiations? You spoke of your uncle’s influence in the Foreign Office.”

Darcy shook his head and pressed the letter into her hands. “No, it is something far more personal. Would you read it?” His thumbs caressed the back of her fingers and his gaze was shadowed and heavy. “It is much with which I burden you, but I cannot see my way clear to a solution. It has to do with my family, and I have always been taught that duty to my family must come before all else, but this...Elizabeth, I am unsure where my duty lies.”

She took the letter and willed her hands to be steady. What on earth could this missive contain? It had shaken the very core of a man whose steadfast and indefatigable nature was unrivaled in her acquaintance. “William, you speak of your family, but you must remember that they are soon to be my family. I have already told you my duties are to you, our families, and to England. I will do anything in my power to aid you.”

Some of the tension left his shoulders and he sagged into the armchair. He must not have slept a single wink! Elizabeth stood, clutching the letter, and waylaid Partridge as he entered with a tray. In short order, Darcy found himself roused from the chair and hustled upstairs to a quiet room near Sir Edmund’s suite where the sheets had been turned down and a borrowed nightshirt awaited. Elizabeth kissed his cheek and fairly shoved him into the arms of Bullworth, her uncle’s trusted valet. “Absolutely no arguments, love. We will speak when you are rested. I will not leave, I promise you, and you will be roused by the afternoon.”

She extracted herself despite his protests, and left him in Bullworth’s more than capable charge. Hurrying downstairs, she dashed off a series of notes and handed them to Partridge.

That accomplished, she helped herself to a roll and a cup of coffee, settling in beside the the parlor fire to read this mysterious letter that had tipped her beloved’s world on its ear.

 

_My Dearest Nephew,_

_Be not alarmed that illness or tragedy shall recall you to your home shores, that is not the purpose of this missive. Rather, I seek to impart some knowledge that has been withheld from you, for many reasons, throughout the years. I believe it is most important for you to have this information now, and I only wish I had known of your destination when you left this land in the autumn of last year. I would have told you then, in person. It might have been of aid to you. Whether or not you shall forgive me for my presumption in maintaining secrecy shall remain to be seen, but I am ever hopeful that you will understand, and in your comprehension see your way to forgiveness. Before I begin, I shall only add that my decisions have always been based on the deepest affection for you and Georgiana, and my enduring friendship with your estimable father._

_There is no simple way to explain these events, so I shall begin where most tales begin—at the start of it all. I know that you view the union of your parents as a sterling example of the state of matrimony, and it is with deepest regret that I must now disabuse you of this notion. My dear sister Anne, your mother, was a beautiful girl and even more beautiful as a woman, but she was frail and given to flights of fancy. Her temper was uneven as a child; one moment she would be joy and smiles and the next reduced to tears and hiding in the library. It grew into a nervous temper as she grew older, though she learned to control it with our sister Catherine’s forceful guidance._

_Both of their matches were arranged, and only Catherine took a Season in London, which she disliked heartily—to no one’s surprise, I imagine. Anne was terrified at the thought, and my good father searched for the gentlest man he could find, to whom it would not be a hardship upon Anne to wed. I was at Cambridge, at the time, and George Darcy was a good fellow who was a few years my elder and a fine friend, and I had spent time at Pemberley and found it to be a peaceful, well-situated estate that George and his father managed excellently._

_His father was ailing and I knew George sought a wife, despite his youth. This was only a year or so before the Terror in France began in earnest, and young men were still taking the Grand Tour, but George had decided to forego the pleasure and stay at Pemberley, where he could be of use to his father. I took the initiative to invite George to Aristock Abbey for the summer, and introduced him to my father the earl and my sister._

_George was quite taken with Anne’s beauty and quiet manners, and the family rejoiced—it seemed Anne also took to George’s kind ways and generous humor. We could not have hoped for a better outcome. We are all aware that some families choose to hide away those offspring who do not excel, especially those of fragile temper, but that has never been the way with our family. We truly believed that if it was not a love match between George and Anne, they would at least have a comfortable and fruitful union._

_You must understand, Nephew, your father did care for your mother, quite a bit. There were few who could not care for Anne. She was a delicate flower one could not  help feeling obligated to protect. I have since learned in my own life that a deep and lasting union of affection takes a kind of courage to endure, and that courage was not in Anne’s possession. She liked your father, enjoyed his company, but I fear marriage was a trial she was not meant to bear._

_Over the years at Pemberley, her frailty and uncertain manners grew worse. We should never have sent her away from her home, but even when George brought her to us in hopes it would cheer her, it was not the same for Anne. Your wise aunt, my wife, has remarked that it is impossible for a woman to return to her maiden life once she is married—she is changed forever, and nothing is the same. For a strong woman, this is no hardship, but for Anne, I fear it was disaster._

_The only bright spot in her life, dear Nephew, was the gift of yourself. It was a double-edged sword, however, and it pains me to tell you this, but it is important for you to understand what happened later. Birth is difficult for a woman, and so often can result in tragedy and heartbreak. Anne in her delicacy was not prepared to bear a child, and though your birth was not out of the ordinary, and by all accounts rather easy by comparison, the ordeal nearly shattered her composure. She did eventually recover, but it was a long road, and took many years. You would not have known this, dear Nephew, for she doted upon you—I often think it was only your presence that anchored her to any sort of happiness and well-being. She turned away from George completely, and for her own sake he allowed it, though I know it cost him dearly. He was a quiet sort of man, your father, and had no close friends apart from myself, your mother, and his childhood friend, whom you will recall as your old steward, Alexander Wickham._

_I was away in London courting Ellen, and with your mother’s withdrawal, George had only his steward for any sort of companionship, and though the two were as close as brothers, there remained of course some degree of isolation. A steward is not a gentleman— Wickham was an estimable a fellow whom I also quite liked—nothing can remove the barrier of class. Though, at that time, France was doing its damndest to accomplish just that. Which brings us, I fear, to the very crux of the matter._

_I am certain you know well your family’s history. Though they have been in England since the Norman Invasion, your family has always kept ties to France, despite the numerous wars between our peoples, which have on occasion, cost the Darcys royal favor. At the dawning of the Terror, everyone in England held out their open arms to their French brethren, who fled their homeland with death on their heels. Your father was no exception, and he brought to Pemberley the young Baron Sebastien D’Arcy and his wife, Mariette. You were but a babe at the time, Nephew, and you would not recall them. The only one who would, at this point, are myself, Catherine, and Wilkins, the former Pemberley butler, unless he has passed, though the last I heard he was still happily tending his cabbages._

_I digress, and I cannot avoid telling you the truth any longer. The Baron D’Arcy was a cold, cruel, vicious sort of man, though none of us saw it at the time. His behavior was restricted, as he knew too well that with his lands and fortune likely seized in the rebellion, he lived upon George’s mercy. The Baroness, however...well, you have likely met her yourself by this time. I cannot imagine how her charms or disposition have aged, but I will tell you she was the most beautiful creature I have ever beheld in my life. Even Ellen was taken by her beauty, though my dearest has never been of a jealous temperament._

_Mariette was not only beautiful, she was kind and witty. She had an open sort of humor, and a relentless cheerfulness that was never forced. In retrospect, I can now see there was a deep vein of hurt and distress within her, but I never saw it at the time. George did, however, for I believe a lonely soul can recognize another at a mere glance._

_It pains me greatly to tell you what happened next, not because I hold your father to any blame, but because I know your views on honor and duty, and I fear this will tarnish the image of your father that you so cherish. Please believe me when I say I have long forgiven your father for his transgression, and I understand the power that love can hold over a man. I have always, unfashionable as it may be, loved your aunt, my dear wife. If I had been in your father’s shoes, I cannot with any conscience believe I might have acted differently._

_By this time, you may have guessed at what I have danced around revealing. Your father, George Darcy, and the Baroness Mariette Babineaux D’Arcy fell in love with one another, and began a long, tempestuous affair that would last for years. Pemberley was where it began, though I never learned of it until several years later. Anne never knew, thank heavens. George was careful to never allow anything that could harm his wife to come near her. During their stay at Pemberley, I am uncertain whether or not the Baron knew then, but he certainly knew later. It is my belief, and your father’s, that the Baron was far too busy pursuing his own interests._

_Those interests are what led to their expulsion from Pemberley. Alexander Wickham’s first wife, Alice, was a lovely little thing and a kinder soul you could not have met. It pains me so, the things George believes the Baron inflicted upon little Alice, and I cannot write of it, as my hand shakes in anger and disgust to think of it. I do not know if you have read any of the Marquis de Sade’s disgusting publications, but the Baron D’Arcy was an apt pupil. Alice Wickham finally broke and confessed everything to George. He told me later it was clear she had been utterly terrified to say a word about what was happening. Mariette was horrified, and insisted she and her husband leave at once. George, of course, was caught in an unenviable position—he could not allow D’Arcy to stay at Pemberley and abuse his steward’s wife (and, unfortunately as was found, other women), but to banish him meant the banishment of the woman he loved. Not only that, I fear, but Mariette was no stranger to her husband’s brutality._

_They left, and George changed. He became even more withdrawn. His visits to London had been infrequent in the past, but they ceased when the D’Arcys left Pemberley. I tried everything in my power to draw him out of his lonely exile, but little helped. Only business ventures could gain his attention and willingness to travel, and it was upon one such venture that he traveled to Brussels with me and once more met the Baroness D’Arcy._

_Her husband was not with her—he had traveled into Geneva to meet with some other French exiles and plot ways to regain their lands. I do not know the details of that meeting, unfortunately, which would likely have been of use to you. I was in Brussels with your father, and with Mariette. I am certain you can imagine what happened there without my need to spell it out. I will only add that I have never in my life seen a man so joyously happy as George was in the company of Mariette. It was more than evident to my eyes that she returned his affection whole-heartedly. George confessed all to me, and begged for my forgiveness. I could only beg him for his, you see, for it was I who had promoted his match to my sister from the start, and I who had placed him in this position. I could not hold it against him._

_We left Brussels, and George confessed to me they had arranged to see each other in London again. I only learned of the consequences of those visits later, when your father was ill. He wrote to me, and when I came to Pemberley to see him, he gave into my keeping a number of letters from Mariette, in which she confessed that her two children, Etienne and Juliet D’Arcy were not the children of her husband, but were instead fathered by George. With Etienne, she had managed to fool her husband, but not with Juliet, who was conceived in London, and born too early for Juliet to pass off as the Baron’s child. The Baron, you see, had never fathered a child with Mariette, and she told George she had never yet found any child he had fathered, even natural children. There were none. A riding accident as a youth caused an injury that Mariette believed responsible for his inability to father children. She feared it had also been the root of his cruelty._

_You need have no worry for Georgiana’s parentage. Though George and Anne were practically estranged at that juncture, my sister Catherine paid a visit to Pemberley and harangued poor Anne about her duty so viciously that Anne approached George to beg for his forgiveness in her failure as a wife. Catherine had discovered George’s affair with the Baroness in London, you see, and could not countenance the disgrace she believed her sister had brought to the family._

_George still cared for Anne, and Mariette had remarried upon the Baron’s death in order to care for her children, and George attempted a reconciliation in the hope that he and Anne could reach some measure of happiness at last. It was not to be. Georgiana’s birth was difficult, as you remember, and it left a lasting mark upon her health. The rest you recall. Still, I think they found some measure of mutual contentment in their beautiful little girl and the health of their son._

_When Anne passed, George was, I fear, nearly consumed by guilt. He believed that he should have done more, should have cared for her more deeply, should never have allowed himself to fall in love with Mariette. Dearest Nephew, I fear he took it upon himself to ensure you would measure up to the impossible standard he set for himself; that you would always put duty and honor ahead of your heart and happiness. He plotted your marriage to Catherine’s daughter and despite the lessons of his own arranged match, impressed upon you the duty to which you owe the family. He wished for you to succeed where he imagined his failure. His guilt, too, showed itself in his treatment of Alice Wickham’s son, especially as the boy was not well loved by his stepmother. I fear we know the outcome of that too well._

_That is why I have never supported the idea of a union between you and Anne. I fear I lied to you when I told you that your father would not have wished it, but it was only a partial lie. The George I had known before his wife’s death would not have countenanced such a match, and would have advised you to do what he could not, to follow your heart and find happiness. I have tried to impress this notion upon you in his stead, but as your uncle and not your father, I fear at times that my words have not carried sufficient weight. Yet I hope, and I have faith in you._

_When your letter mentioned your assistance to the D’Arcy children, your acquaintance with their mother, and their connection to the Comte de Montilvert, I knew you must now have this information. I wished to tell you when your father passed, but he insisted you never have knowledge of his transgression and Catherine agreed. I tell you now that Etienne and Juliet D’Arcy are your kin, your siblings. I understand what family means to you, William. I do not wish to burden you with more than you have already shouldered in your young life, but I believe you must know. Vienna is a hotbed of spies and information, and I could not countenance the idea of your discovering the truth by any other means._

_Please forgive me, dear boy._

 

_Your Caring Uncle,_

_Robert Fitzwilliam, 7th Earl of Stalton_

  
  


Upon the third reading of the letter, the import of the words finally breached Elizabeth’s stunned senses. William was the D’Arcys’ brother! Lord, they could not keep their distance now—anything that tainted Etienne and Juliet would touch William and Georgiana.  Neither the Fitzwilliams nor the Bennets could remain unaffected.

More importantly, they were kin, even more so than the tenuous connection exploited previously. Elizabeth sat forward as the thought occurred to her that perhaps Castlereagh had known of the affair—why else would he have sent Darcy to France? He must have known the Comtesse de Montilvert could not refuse the son of the man she had so loved. She would have to ask if Darcy favored his father in looks.

If Castlereagh knew, it was possible others did, as well. She thought of Lord Stewart and his loose, drunken tongue. He had not thus far betrayed anything of consequence, but how long would that last?

It was not inconceivable that others in London would learn the connection. Even if Lord Stalton believed only he and Lady Catherine de Bourgh knew the truth, there were always servants who heard more than most believed, and there was always one keen-eyed curious person who made it their life’s work to keep abreast of all concerns not strictly their own. If told, the tale of Darcy’s illicit French relations would spread like wildfire through the ton; not a one of them would be left untouched by its devastation. Not only would it be treated as a sordid tale of infidelity and disgrace, but it would also sharply call Darcy’s loyalties into question, which would be disastrous.

A knock on the parlor door heralded the arrival of Charles Bingley. He was freshly dressed and shaved, though his pinched face spoke of worry. “Lizzy,” he greeted her, grasping her hands as she stood to welcome him. “I received your note. Where is Darcy?”

“I’ve sent him to bed. I cannot have him collapsing of exhaustion, not with all we must face. Especially not after this,” she added, holding up the letter. “William said you were asked to memorize its message?”

Charles nodded. “I was, yes.”

Elizabeth ran a weary hand over her face and held her fingertips to her lips as she paced back to the fire. “Good God, Charles, what are we to do? I am to wed William, and through me, this will affect us all.” She picked a discarded linen apron from her work basket and tied it around her waist, tucking the folded letter inside its pocket. She motioned for Charles to be seated. “Do not stand on ceremony, Brother, please. Lord knows Colonel Fitzwilliam never does. I wish to pace, and I will not have you suffer for it.”

Bingley cocked his head as though he might object, and then shook it ruefully, apparently recalling precisely against whom he would argue. He took the seat beside her abandoned chair. “I am pleased to hear you continue to speak of your engagement.”

She looked at him sharply. “You thought I would end it simply because he’s discovered some natural-born siblings?”

“I do not know that you fully understand the weight of the Darcy and Fitzwilliam names, which rests almost solely upon their reputations. I would never call you unclever,” he forestalled her protest with a raised hand, “but a more pragmatic and colder woman would give it consideration. I did not want to believe you capable of shallow sentiment, not with a man you truly loved.”

“Charles, I am not mercenary. My affections are deep and genuine.”

He nodded. “I am aware how deep your loyalties can run, Lizzy. I did not expect to arrive in Vienna to find either your affections or hand engaged, let alone to Darcy, of all people. I am glad of it, truly. I think you will suit well, and if your love is even half of what I am fortunate to share with Jane, you will be a happy couple indeed.”

“Then what do we do?” She sat down at last, weary. Darcy had come to her for aid, for a solution, his mind too wrapped in turmoil to be able to think beyond the shock. He did not, she had a notion, ask for help very often. “We must acknowledge them, openly, and without reservation.

“Do you reckon?”

Elizabeth shrugged. “I see no other palatable alternative. It is not in either of our natures to turn our backs on those who need us, and oh, Charles, the D’Arcys are hopeless little lambs. They have had little guidance in the world, and went from a cruel father to an indifferent one. They were born to a mother too wrapped in her own survival and heartbreak. I am sure she did whatever she could to protect them, but that is difficult when one must also protect oneself. I have not experienced such horror myself, but I have seen the effect in others. Besides, it is the right thing to do.”

“Darcy may not wish to acknowledge them openly as his brother and sister, necessarily, but I believe you are correct.” Bingley sighed. “It is the best option. I would far rather control the narrative told in London than be surprised by it.”

Elizabeth shook her head. “No, I fear he must. If he brings back French relations and they are merely tenuously distant cousins, it will leave far more room for rumor and the questioning of his motives. If he returns to England with his natural-born brother and sister, however, he is a dutiful Christian determined to act as the head of the Darcy family. It would cost him social cachet either way, but in this, he gains the benefit both of having truly performed his moral duty, and also of not having his loyalty to England brought into question.”

Bingley scratched at his chin in thought. “We cannot tell the entire truth of the D’Arcy’s lands and their importance;there are bound to be suspicions if it is ever revealed Darcy was in France last year. I suppose we could say he was determined to find his siblings and bring them home safely, then discovered they were with Montilvert and sought them out in Vienna.”

“That is devious, and a little romantic. I approve.” She sighed. “There is still the matter of the Comte’s death, but I doubt London will care overmuch beyond the extra bit of titillation it will provide to the gossip.”

Charles sighed. “This is all well and good in conjecture, Lizzy, but you still have the matter of what to do now. Do you stay silent here in Vienna and wait until your arrival in England? Do not forget,neither D’Arcy sibling know the truth yet—Lord Stalton believed the Comtesse only told Darcy’s father.”

Elizabeth groaned. “And this further complicates the matter of the Comte’s death. I think William suspects far more than suicide.”

Bingley winced. “That is truly unfortunate.” He shook his head. “You will not be able to keep Darcy from them, not now, and if someone is aiming to harm their family…”

“William is in danger,” she agreed softly.

  
***********************  
  
  


“This,” Joshua hissed at her, “had better work, Olivia. I am in no mood to swing for treason.”

Olivia pulled the knot of the shawl she had wrapped across her torso and tied behind her. “Whose German is better; yours or mine?”

Joshua sighed. “Yours.”

The narrow market streets of Vienna were crowded with vendors hawking various wares, and the smell of the fish market was nearly overwhelming. Perfect spot for an undertaker, Olivia had to admit. Over the stink of the rotting fish, it would be difficult to smell the rotting men.

The undertaker was a surly man in a yellowing shirt with few teeth and even fewer hairs upon his head. He seemed displeased in needing to answer the door, but he answered, bless him, in Italian. Hopefully, he would not be able to distinguish a lack of dialect in her German as she asked him haltingly for cleaning work.

Joshua threw her a look from under the brim of his battered hat, the tattered,stained shirt and coat hung off his frame. It was odd to see his neck mostly bare under a simple kerchief knot after seeing him so often in his clean, crisp uniform. It reminded her of when they were children, Joshua always arguing with Stephen to bring her along. She loved Stephen dearly, but it was Joshua who was closer in age, and more a companion and friend. Stephen could be so damned righteous at times.

The undertaker agreed to a price—they never could keep good servants, Olivia found. He led them to an anteroom and instructed them to scrub the floors while he finished his work in the next room. Olivia handed her brother a brush, ignoring his pained look. “We’ll have to do a good job,” she whispered under her breath, “if we want him to let us into the next room. Why did you not have him prepared for burial in his own house?”

Joshua raised an eyebrow and mouthed “suicide” before he began scrubbing the floor with vigor. Olivia frowned before nodding to herself. Of course, Castlereagh would want the house cleaned as quickly as possible and would pay an undertaker to make sure the corpse appeared exactly as if it had been a self-inflicted death. In a town full of spies, he would want it taken care of as quickly and tidily as possible.

It was easy to sneak into a townhouse, but far more difficult to locate the correct undertaker in such a large city as Vienna. Without Joshua’s help, she might never have found the correct one. She tossed a glance at her brother as she scrubbed beside him. His face was taut but his eyes were alert and taking in any number of details.

It been simple work to borrow her maid’s dress and insinuate herself into the staff of the hotel where Joshua quartered. When he’d awoken, she was sitting in a chair across from his bed with coffee and a bundle of workman’s clothes he now wore. “The British Army cannot be seen to take a deep interest in the death of the Comte de Montilvert,” she told him reasonably. “I have no doubts that Castlereagh intends to discover who is responsible, but I also know he will ignore the body. The body, dear brother, is a font of important information, and we must collect it before it vanishes.”

He had not argued, had not scolded her, nor ordered her home. Instead, he sat up, rubbed his eyes, and drank the coffee. After five minutes’ worth of silent consideration, he merely gave one sharp nod.

That was why, naturally, he was her favorite brother.

Though, Olivia admitted to herself as her stomach roiled in nerves, perhaps Joshua might have argued a little bit. Perhaps this was not such a brilliant scheme. A stream of inventive Italian cursing drifted through the paneled door, and a second voice joined, soothing and deep. The language had shifted to English.

Olivia and Joshua exchanged wide-eyed looks. _Fitzwilliam_! The voice belonged to Edmund Fitzwilliam, hang it all!

Joshua pulled his hat up and mussed his hair until it covered his eyes, before pulling his hat down further upon his crown. He buttoned the jacket to appear heavier than usual. Olivia tucked every last errant telltale ginger curl beneath the worn muslin cap. As long as they did not look up at the Colonel’s entrance, should he come into the room, they should pass.

The door did open, and a pair of black Hessian-booted feet appeared in Olivia’s view. She stopped her scrubbing and scooted aside to allow him to pass, keeping her head low. The Colonel spoke to the undertaker lowly about the funeral preparations and it appeared they had escaped detection.

She reached for her brush, then felt a pull at the edge of her skirt. Thinking she was caught upon an errant floorboard, she reached back to free the fabric, looking over her shoulder at what had caught it only to meet a black leather heel and–as she unconsciously raised her head–an arched eyebrow. “Do excuse me,” Fitzwilliam fairly purred at her. She swallowed past a suddenly dry throat at his ill-concealed fury.

The undertaker showed Fitzwilliam to the door, and she looked at Joshua, terrified. He shrugged one shoulder, a resigned expression upon his face. “We are dead in a matter of hours,” he said under his breath, “so we might as well make the most of it. Let us gain access to that room before we get out of here.”

  
***********************  
  


It had been a very peculiar morning, Georgiana reflected. Both Bingley and Will were gone from the house upon her awakening, and she had come downstairs particularly early. Or, at least, it was early by her usual English country standards. Apparently, early in Vienna included  an entirely new set of hours that she was never convinced truly existed. Jane had risen, taken a small breakfast, and left the house with the intention of calling upon Lady Blackmore before her official visiting hours. Georgiana thought Jane would arrive before Lady Blackmore was even robed for the morning, but Jane appeared as though there was more than simple courtesy to her call. Perhaps Lady Blackmore was expecting Jane.

Georgiana had the distinct impression she was being deliberately left out of something, and it rankled.

She sighed. Will would, of course, do everything in his power to protect her from any ugliness in the world, as would Edmund. She did not expect to be involved in any discussion over the events of the previous night, nor did she expect to be informed of all the Bingleys’ political duties.

Georgiana did, however, expect to have more to do apart from sit at the piano, which she had done quite a bit of in London. And at Pemberley. And at Aristock Abbey.

Her fingers clashed over the keys, sending a riot of a fugue echoing throughout the house. There was no one apart from the servants to bother, and they had always liked a bit of energetic music to accompany their work, though they preferred country airs and folk dances. Those were too simple to suit Georgiana’s current mood, however. She wanted complicated notes tangling her fingers, forte marks to force the hammers down and make the strings thrum with the violence of her frustration.

Such had ever been her way. It was difficult to speak, sometimes, to acknowledge her own feelings, and she allowed the music to speak for her when she could not. This was a private voice, one through which she could shout and cry and laugh, and no one would comprehend it or censure it beyond “could you play a little softer, dearest?”

The music shifted and spun across the D minor key. She had always enjoyed the melancholy of a minor key; it struck something of a similar chord within herself. It pulled at the thoughts and heart. D minor demanded attention with its sharp transitions and chords. Often, she wished she had the courage to demand such attention for herself.

The piece approached the _molto adagio_ section. She enjoyed punctuating the the notes with force, which produced a far more jarring effect upon a pianoforte than the organ for which it was designed. She sighed, momentarily satisfied with the pleasure executing such a complicated piece could bring, but it faded as she realized she had nothing to do next.

She reached for her sheet music to search for a dirge, but was interrupted by an unfamiliar voice. “I would offer applause for your performance, Miss Darcy,” said the masculine interloper, “but I fear that would defeat the purpose.”

Startled, she dropped the sheets of music as she turned around. Major Harrington strode across the room to assist her, and thankfully she managed a somewhat graceful bend curtsey in greeting despite her embarrassment.

He bowed elegantly and scooped the music from the floor. “I fear you must feel terribly abandoned,” he said as he handed her the pages.

Georgiana could only stare, surprised at his having guessed her thoughts so accurately.

He cleared his throat. “I was, ah, told that the Bingleys are not at home, and neither is Mr. Darcy. I can only imagine you feel somewhat abandoned in a strange city with everyone out and about their own business.” He offered her a half smile. “Your music seemed to say as much. Bach is an excellent tool for exorcising demons, I find.”

The Major stood very close to her. She had yet to pull the sheets of music away from his hands. If only she could command her hands to work! There was something in his presence and voice, a deep and decidedly male timbre that affected her greatly. She could not recall the last time she stood so close to a man who was not a near relation.

No, she could. She could recall it quite clearly.

With that thought to still her wayward emotions, Georgiana took a decided step backward and placed the music on the bench. She offered a polite smile. “How may I be of assistance, Major Harrington? Would you care for some refreshment? I am happy to pass along a message for my brother, or for Charles.”

He looked amused. Had she spoken too quickly? Too softly?

“Fortunately, it is you I seek, Miss Darcy.”

It was? “It is?”

His smile widened, illustrating a set of dimples that softened the somewhat harsh angles of his face. “Indeed. I am here to fetch you at the insistence of my sister.”

Georgiana frowned. “Is Olivia well?”

The Major appeared to consider his words carefully. “I...yes, she is well. For the moment. Soon, I am certain, Fitzwilliam is going to have both of our guts for garters—as our old nurse would have it—but as it stands we are both in good health and spirits.” His lip twitched.

“Oh dear,” Georgiana said, biting the corner of her lip out of nervous habit. “I had better fetch my bonnet. I did not think Olivia would get up to any schemes in Vienna, but you appear as terrible as she!”

Major Harrington laughed openly and Georgiana fancied a note of approval in his voice. “Yes, Miss Darcy, I am every bit as wretched as my hoyden of a sister. Fetch your bonnet, your gloves, your pelisse, and a sketchbook and pencils, if you will. I suppose you had better fetch a maid as well. Let us not add both of your guardians to list of gentlemen who wish to strangle me in one day.”

  
******************  
  


Strangulation was far too kind a fate, in Edmund’s opinion. It could not be pistols at dawn—Harrington was an uncanny ace with a pistol, and there were few who could best him at swords. Edmund would have him easily in a boxing match, as the Major was not nearly as handy with his fives.

He and Joshua had faced disagreements in the past, mostly over women, wine, or both together, but never before had Fitzwilliam wanted so badly to pick his friend up by the scruff of his neck and shake the life out of him. Those pert green eyes peeking up at him from under long ginger lashes as Olivia Harrington idly—and poorly—pushed a scrub brush across the floor of the undertaker’s house...the bloody undertaker, of all things! What utter insane nonsense had Harrington talked his sister into performing! What sort of brother could he be to bring a gently bred woman within a mile of such an establishment?

For the life of him, he would never remove the image of Olivia Harrington scrubbing floors from his mind. He found it both appalling and, to his utter embarrassment, unnervingly arousing. He did not believe she knew how much of her charms had been on display in that ill-fitting gown as she sat upon her knees, bent over the floor. It had touched something primal within him. The urge to haul her from the floor, march her out the front door, and find the nearest carriage in which he could kiss such complete nonsense from her foolish head had been almost overwhelming.

It was absurd, and absolutely unacceptable, to be dangling after a slip of a girl half his age—the very same age of his own ward, he might add! Yet he could not escape the notion that Georgiana Darcy and Olivia Harrington were two very different people, despite their friendship and common age. Where he felt nothing but brotherly affection for dear Georgie, his thoughts about her friend were anything but brotherly.

It would not do. Harrington would throttle him. Well, unless Fitzwilliam throttled Harrington first, of course.

The carriage he spent the past hour stewing within finally arrived at Sir Edward’s residence. Edmund hopped down and straightened his brown coat and yellow vest, preparing to do battle within. Partridge admitted him, and without a word ushered him to the seldom-used music room.

Familiar voices reached him from other rooms, but he ignored them for the moment. Whatever Elizabeth and Charles Bingley were discussing, he would be informed of it later. Clatter from the kitchen warned of the cold collation Elizabeth preferred for luncheon. He and the other soldiers were in the habit of taking luncheon with her and a few other ladies from time to time, as there were no clubs in Vienna to which they would be admitted. Elizabeth’s table was preferable by far to a street vendor’s pasty. He was not certain why so many gentlemen disdained the practice and term of “luncheon” back in London, but such were the ways of the fashionable set. Since going off to war, he had began to understand them less and less.

Partridge opened the door to the music room and Fitzwilliam stepped inside to a most astonishing scene. The peel he had been prepared to ring above Harrington’s head froze on his lips.

Olivia Harrington was again upon the floor, though this time fashionably gowned in a dress of brown velvet. A proper fichu obscured any improper view. Where Miss Harrington sat upon her knees, his dear cousin and ward Georgiana was seated upon a footstool. The sleeves of her pink gown were pushed upwards and her bare wrists were covered in graphite smudge marks. She was frowning at a sheaf of sketches.

Major Harrington stood off to the opposite side, concentrating intensely at something upon the round rug in the middle of the floor. Georgiana obscured his view, but as he took a step closer, he could clearly see a series of papers laid across the floor in the vague shape of a man’s body, and the papers had been drawn upon to represent…

...heaven help him, they represented the Comte of Montilvert’s bloody corpse, down to the gory remnants of his head.

“What,” Edmund ground out between clenched teeth before Partridge had so much as announced him, “in seven _Hells_ do you lot think you are doing?”

Georgiana spun around on the footstool with a squeak of despair, sliding from it onto the floor. Harrington darted across and assisted her to her feet while looking apologetically to Edmund. “Look, Fitzwilliam—”

“ _Colonel_ ,” he spat. “You clearly seem to have forgotten my rank, _Major_ , so let me illuminate you. The title is Colonel Fitzwilliam.”

Harrington’s face tightened and the openness in his expression was shuttered. The thought fleetingly cross Edmund’s mind that perhaps he had pushed his friendship too far on this instance, but this was not to be borne! “Georgiana—” he began, but she stepped out of his grasp, a look of fury upon her expression that he had never before witnessed.

“ _Miss_ ,” she insisted. “It is _Miss_ Darcy, cousin. Since you seem to have forgotten.”

He exhaled a slow breath through his nose to prevent himself from throwing his beloved little cousin across his knee like a spoilt child. “Georgiana,” he retorted, “I am your guardian and responsible for your care, and as such I will not countenance your involvement in this…” he waved a hand at the drawings, “...morbid little situation. I would not countenance Miss Harrington’s involvement either, but she is not my concern. You are. We are leaving. Harrington, we will speak later.”

“No.”

Fitzwilliam turned from the door, surprised. He had assumed Georgiana would follow him. Angry or not, she had never once disobeyed a command from either of her guardians. Yet she stood rooted in place beside Harrington. “I beg your pardon?”

Georgiana drew a deep and shaking breath, and as though a bucket of cold water was thrown upon his senses, he saw with clarity just how much such an effort was costing her.

Her face was pale and she looked upon the verge of tears, but she clutched her hands together and faced him with courage. “Cousin, please, I beg you to listen to us before you leap to judgement. Do not...do not be angry with Major Harrington. His only concern in this was our safety and reputation.”

“‘Our?’” he echoed.

“Olivia’s,” she paused to gesture to the young woman and Edmund’s eyes were drawn to an equally pale, but resigned face, “and mine. This is not...this is not the first time we have…” Here she faltered and looked to her friend for help.

“This is not the first time I have assisted a murder inquiry,” Miss Harrington spoke frankly, her tone the flat resignation of one who knows she will not be believed. “Neither is this the first Georgiana has assisted me with her skills and pencils. Generally not with murder, but there have been times.”

He stared at her for a long moment, attempting to absorb her meaning. Too stunned to reply, he looked toward his cousin, who sighed and shrugged. “I do not have a weak stomach,” Georgiana offered simply, “and it is interesting to know how things work. It was animals, at first. Olivia had joined me at Aristock, and Minerva had difficulties foaling. Olivia helped—she performed surgery upon a horse! I asked her to explain how she knew what to do, and then she told me and I asked more questions and I began to sketch the subjects we discussed, and…” she faltered once more, biting her lip.

“Georgiana’s drawings have been published,” interjected Miss Harrington, “which doubtless you will also not approve, but they have been. Under a pseudonym of course, along with my articles that were also published under a false name.”

Fitzwilliam rubbed his face with both hands. How had this spiraled out of his control so quickly?

“He was murdered.”

“I know, Miss Harrington,” Edmund said from behind his palms.

“Thrice.”

Edmund froze, then lifted his head slowly from his fingertips. “ _What_?”

A small, superior little smirk emerged from those delightful lips and was quickly suppressed. “He was murdered three times. Poison, knife, and pistol. Though the poison already had him in its grip before the knife or pistol. Any of the three alone would have been fatal.”

Damnation. That bloody Italian fellow said nothing about poison or a knife wound, only that Montilvert had gout and was a crack shot who had known precisely where to aim his pistol in order to end his life quickly and painlessly.

Fitzwilliam kicked the music room door closed with his heel and strode back over to the group. Harrington watched him warily, and though Edmund was still furious with him, he could no longer blame him entirely. He folded his arms and looked at Miss Harrington, nodding for her to continue.

She bent down quickly and retrieved one of Georgiana’s sketches. “It was easy to miss, you understand. The c—er, the gentleman, was already dead by poison and had stopped bleeding. The knife wound here,” she pointed to a thin, pale line Georgiana had drawn across a bare man’s torso, “did not bleed. It was done quickly,” she explained, leaving him with the disturbing illustration in his hands. “There was only one mark to his clothing, indicating a very small, intensely sharp dagger. A stiletto, most likely. The sort of light weapon a woman, youth, or slight man might carry. Or it might have been a family heirloom and held significance. Such blades were popular in the Renaissance, particularly in Florence and Venice.”

Miss Harrington paced in front of the pianoforte, back and forth just beyond the paper corpse’s feet. “The knife wound was fairly shallow, again indicating a small blade. Sword canes are not in fashion here, and it was too precise for a military saber. Those blades are often sharpened infrequently and reliant more upon brute force than cutting edge."

As she spoke, she gestured widely but looked at noone in particular, her eyes darting over specters unseen to the rest of them. She rubbed the back of her neck. “The poison was a little more difficult to discern, and quite honestly, I am not wholly convinced. Yet there were a number of oddities that taken together seem to indicate a nefarious occurrence.” Three delicate, ungloved fingers were held in the air and bent down as she made each point. “The contents of his stomach indicate consuming a leafy green much like parsley, which would not be surprising as the French do love parsley in their food. However, it was present only with some liquid, and finely ground, which would indicate a tisane rather than a dish. There have been cases made for the use of Queen Anne’s Lace, which has a similar appearance, in the treatment of gout, which the, ah, gentleman suffered from in abundance.”

“If it is poisonous, why drink it? I would rather have gout than be dead,” Georgiana interjected sensibly.

Fitzwilliam swallowed past a dry throat. “You looked inside a man’s _stomach_?”

“It was the foulest thing I have witnessed in my life,” Harrington replied softly. That comment spoke volumes to Fitzwilliam. Harrington had been with him at Talavera.

Miss Harrington ceased her pacing and looked to Georgiana, ignoring the comments from either gentleman. “Oh, Queen Anne’s Lace is not poisonous, but you see, _hemlock_ is. They look awfully similar.”

“Hell and damnation,” Fitzwilliam swore.

 

*******************

TBC


	10. Chapter 10

Darcy awoke feeling disoriented and thirsty. He fumbled until his fingers connected with a ceramic jug of water and a glass. After a long pull, he opened his eyes fully and took in the unfamiliar room. Where was he?

As sleep left his mind and cognition returned, so did memory. His library, the letter, the hours roaming the streets in search of Edmund...he had felt utterly adrift in a way he had not since his mother’s death, and desperately needed an anchor; someone to tell him he had not run mad, that fate would arrange itself if he only had courage. In the absence of his uncle, Darcy had always turned to his cousin. Edmund had more of his father’s wisdom and compassion than he had formerly believed.

When he could not find his cousin, the image of Elizabeth Bennet floated to mind and would not dislodge itself. He could not burden her with such concerns, yet he had found his feet drifting towards Sir Edward Gardiner’s residence, his voice calling out for a cab and giving the direction. Everything after that point was a blur, but he recalled Elizabeth’s soothing voice, the concern in her eyes, and the determined tilt of her head as she shoved him off to bed.

Darcy smiled to himself. It was a profoundly welcome experience to be given care, rather than giving it. When his father died, Pemberley had been his anchor, the duties and responsibilities a welcome routine into which he could pour himself. It had been a ready-made mold, and much like his Pemberley cook’s aspics, he had hardened into the shape it demanded.

A knock came at the door, and Darcy called out for whatever servant it was to enter. It was not the valet he expected, but rather Elizabeth herself peeking around the door. She closed the door behind her, and Darcy heard the distinct click of the lock. He became suddenly and acutely aware that he wore only a borrowed nightshirt.

Her cheeks flushed when she caught sight of him, and what a sight he must present! The nightshirt was unfastened at the collar, and a goodly portion of his neck and chest was on show. There was no chance to make a break for his trousers; Sir Edward was a good foot shorter than Darcy, and the nightshirt only reached to the middle of his calves. Still she came forward, regardless of his inappropriate state.

She scooped something from the foot of the bed and held it behind her back, her cheeks bright but her eyes quizzical as she looked at him silently. Darcy found himself torn between the urge to pull her close and damn propriety, or tug the counterpane up to his neck and sink out of sight.

Fortunately, he was rescued by the source of his torment. Elizabeth smiled and produced a red damask dressing gown from behind her back. She turned and allowed him the privacy to wrap its volume around his body. Some of his bare ankles still showed, but fortunately she was not missish.

She _had_ locked the door, he recalled.

The fabric of the dressing gown gave him enough insulation from her warmth to be able to trust in his self-control. Darcy reached out and pulled Elizabeth against him, her back to his chest and his arms around her waist. He pressed his lips to her neck and a deep sigh of contentment escaped her lips, her head pressed back into his shoulder as she relaxed into his embrace. Lord, what a woman!

Her shoulders shook, and he lifted his head to meet a mischievous look of mirth in the mirror. “You are giggling.”

Elizabeth bit her lip. “Your nose is still cold.”

He recalled their previous conversation from the morning she had so firmly declared her dedication and affection and closed his eyes. Arms tightening around her, he pressed his cheek to hers. “Your neck is still warm.” After a moment, he released her and sat down upon the edge of the bed. “You read the letter?”

“Yes.”

He rubbed his face with both hands as the revelations contained in his uncle’s words washed once more through his mind. Hands dropping helplessly to his lap, he looked away from Elizabeth before speaking the words that he must, as a gentleman, speak. “There is great potential for scandal, and it would taint everything in its path. It could harm the future of not only my sister, but all of yours.” His throat tightened as the reality bore itself through his previous mask of disbelief and confusion.

All this time, suffering the loss of the bright future he had envisioned...to be handed it once more, to believe Providence smiled upon him at last, and then to have that snatched away by his own damnable family. He had spent all his life attending to their needs, their honor, and aside from Georgiana and Fitzwilliam, what had ever been gained? Nothing he had not lost twice over.

And now? He forced himself to say the words. “Elizabeth...Miss Bennet, if you decide that we would not suit—”

“William, no. I shall not cry off. Do you think me so lacking in courage? In love?” Her voice was hoarse with emotion, and he could hear the pain the thought caused her. Yet he knew how she loved her sisters, her family—how could he be so selfish as to keep her with him when it might mean their ruin? Her ruin?

He clenched his hands into fists. “Elizabeth...nothing in this world could possibly offer as much happiness as the joy of being your husband, but not if it means pain to you. I know well enough what your family is to you, and though I was undeservedly harsh towards them, they are good people who would deserve none of the censure Society would offer them through me.”

Darcy felt the mattress shift as Elizabeth sat down next him, and a moment later her warm fingers pried apart his fist, her palm pressing against his. He could not look at her, not with the memory of having just held her fresh in his mind. How could he have let his judgement lapse so, when he knew what must be done?

“What would you do, William?” she asked softly, as her other hand reached up to brush through the hair at the nape of his neck. He shivered at her touch, and he wanted so badly to lean into it, to allow it to wash away the world and its cares. “If it were me, what would you do?”

He opened his eyes and looked at her. She was pale, and worry creased her forehead, but her eyes were as clear as crystal. “If my sister had made a fool of herself somehow in Brighton, or if a secret emerged about my family that made society question our loyalties, what would you do, if you were sworn to me? Would you break the engagement? Leave me alone to fend against against a world that hated and shunned me?”

Swallowing past a tight throat, Darcy shook his head. “You know that I could not.”

“I know,” she replied. “Darling, I know that you would do whatever was within your power to aid me. I know as well that I would insist you let me go, fearing someday your love would turn to regret and bitterness.”

He frowned, unable to fathom a future where his heart could ever turn against Elizabeth. “It could not,” he said quietly, more to himself than to her.

Both of her hands cradled his face and she gently turned him to look at her. “Then how could it be any different now? Can you not comprehend there is nothing anyone can do to turn me from you? Nothing I will ever allow to separate us?” Her thumbs caressed his cheeks, and she leaned forward until she rested her brow against his. “My dearest, darling love, can you not fathom there is nothing in this world worth fighting for if I cannot fight for you?”

Darcy was not certain which of them first moved, but suddenly she was in his arms, lips captured by his, her hands tangled in his hair. He broke the kiss to press his face to her neck, her breasts, the curve of her shoulder, trailing his lips across her flesh to taste every inch. Only when he felt the touch of her hand against his bare chest did he comprehend that he had fallen backwards onto the bed, with Elizabeth on top of him, her weight pressing him down into the bed clothes. Her fingers had pulled at the sash of the dressing gown, and now explored his skin with delicate, excruciatingly wonderful strokes.

She pulled away from him only to shift herself lower and press her lips to his neck, mimicking his prior actions. He could not help a low groan of desire when felt her kiss upon his chest. Hands grasping her arms, he pulled her up to capture her mouth again. Elizabeth sighed against his lips and her heavy plait slipped its pins, loose wisps of it tickling his skin and setting it on fire in way that had only ever happened in his tormented dreams at Netherfield and Rosings.

The noise of the house intruded upon his consciousness, and he drew a shuddering breath as he disentangled himself from her. “Elizabeth, my beautiful love, we cannot…”

She looked quizzically at him, confusion evident in her expression, but comprehension dawned after a moment and she blushed as she sat up. “My,” she remarked, “how easy it is to forget everything. All of these mindful cautions I am meant to follow as a proper young lady; all you need do is look at me and I am ready to forget every sermon and word of advice.” Her head shook slowly, and she removed the rest of her hair pins, collecting them in her palm.

“Will,” she continued after a pause, during which they both attempted to gather their wits. He pushed himself upright and gathered the dressing gown around himself, taking refuge in its volume. “I wish you to know that I have never wanted to...that is, I have never felt this sort of...you are the only one that has ever made me forget myself. Heavens, I’ve never allowed more than a buss under the cheek at the mistletoe ball in Meryton.”

Darcy watched in fascination as she twisted her plaited hair quickly into a chignon at the back of her head, placing the pins methodically. “I am more grateful than you could ever imagine for the gift of your passion, Elizabeth,” he said once she had finished and he could find his voice. “I am too inured to caring for others, standing in command of their lives and well-being...I am not accustomed to being in the care of another.” He reached for her hand. “It is one thing to hear the words when you tell me of your love; they are wonderful, and it is a balm to my heart to hear them. Yet to feel it, in your actions, your response to me...that is a treasure beyond words.” He squeezed her fingers between his and then raised her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to her palm. “I will not take advantage of it, love. Perhaps it would not raise an eyebrow in this city, but I will have no whispers about our marriage.”

She smiled widely, and its brightness rivaled the beam of sunlight that spilled from the window onto the bedding. “You concede, then, that you shall not be rid of me?”

Darcy laughed. “I concede. We shall go through the crucible together, as you wish.”

“Good. I believe I hear your cousin bellowing downstairs. Georgiana is here, with Major Harrington and Olivia. I should perhaps discover precisely what has triggered Edmund’s temper. He rarely shouts at ladies.” She paused as she stood. “William, I have spoken to Charles. I asked him to call after I read your uncle’s letter. I will tell you all, of course, but we have begun to plan. I hope you are not angry that I did not consult you first? I would have, but you looked so tired and wretched, and needed rest so desperately.”

He caught himself before speaking. For a brief moment as she spoke, his initial reaction _was_ one of anger—he did not like plans being made without his involvement. It was far too like his father’s heavy handedness; it rankled him. The concern in Elizabeth’s face stopped him short of an angry retort. He swallowed the words before they could leave his tongue.

She seemed to read his expression, regardless, and her expression fell. “It was rather presumptuous of me. I have grown used to taking charge of a situation. I do not mean to order your life, William, I know you are well able to look after us both. I only…”

Darcy stood and placed his hands on her shoulders. “You only wanted to help, dearest, I know. No doubt you will; that is why I came to you. My waking mind is not accustomed to such care, to relinquishing control, but my heart knew it was your wisdom that was needed. I shall dress and come downstairs, and then I would be most pleased to hear your thoughts and any Bingley may have. I confess I am impressed. I knew he had a certain sharpness of mind, but he was always so eager to please and play the jolly fellow that I never expected him to put his brains to use.”

“He has gone to fetch Jane, who has been out and about on mysterious business this morning.” Elizabeth shrugged. “Georgiana did not seem to know where Jane had gone, other than to call on Lady Blackmore. Odd in itself, as I did not think they were acquainted.”

“Elizabeth? Dearest, you have been in this room, alone, with me, and the door locked for a good half hour. If your intentions were to compromise me, then conversation is the _least_ interesting option, and I ought to be afforded a little entertainment. If your intentions were not seduction, it is perhaps best you leave to attend to your own state of dress before your uncle skins me alive and hangs me from the battlements.”

Her shoulders shook with gaiety, and she held her hands up in defeat and turned to the door. Darcy smiled and reached for the bell pull. Suddenly arms had snaked around his middle and he felt Elizabeth’s warmth pressed against his back, her breath on his neck. She pressed a hand to his chest, sliding it beneath the dressing gown and nightshirt. “We do not have battlements,” she whispered before very slowly and deliberately kissing the skin below his ear.

Just as suddenly, she fled the room, leaving behind a scent of lavender and an echo of delighted, sultry laughter. Lord help him, that woman would be his undoing, and he would enjoy every single moment of it. He had never felt so strong a passion, such a deep need to be near. His rampant erection, which he closed his eyes and tried to will away before he shocked Gardiner’s valet, was proof enough of the erotic desire that had plagued him since he first beheld those sparkling eyes and that delicious form flushed from dancing.

It was not the first time he had felt a strong physical attraction to a lovely woman, but it was the first instance in which desire was married so closely with respect and companionship. Darcy wanted Elizabeth in his bed, yes, but he also wanted to simply talk with her, to sit by the fire in the Pemberley library and argue over poetry. He had suffered from an insatiable curiosity since childhood, and thus it seemed rare to meet someone truly his intellectual equal. To meet that equal in the form of a woman who embodied all the other traits he had desired in a wife (and some he had not even known he had desired), was truly a blessing of the first order. Thank the heavens he had always resisted marrying his cousin Anne.

Was this how his father had felt for Mariette D’Arcy? He frowned and sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing his chin. Lord, if his father had felt even a fraction of the tortuous need Darcy felt for Elizabeth Bennet… Darcy had read the letter from his uncle in disbelief and anger towards his father. The man had pressed and pushed him into the ideal of a gentleman that he himself had apparently not fulfilled.

Yet now, he thought of his father with pity, and compassion. One brief moment of sanity intruding upon his senses had just saved him from taking Elizabeth’s innocence there and then, upon a borrowed bed in a borrowed nightshirt in a house full of people, including Georgiana! If he had been married to his cousin Anne—poor, anxious little Anne who had not two original thoughts to rub together that weren’t put there by a Minerva Press novel or her mother—and Elizabeth was married to another, if they had been left unguarded in Pemberley’s vastness, how would they have dealt with their attraction? Would they have had the fortitude to remain true to their vows, or would they have done as so many others in the beau monde and become discreet lovers? Society cared little for the upholding of marital vows, so long as one had the appearance of upholding them.

He thought of dear Mariette, and could well understand how a man might lose his heart and head to such a woman. Her demeanor towards him, her surprise at their first meeting, and her subsequent good-humored mothering made much more sense to Darcy. When he first met her in Toulouse, he had been astonished at the beauty she still held at her age, and was  impressed even further by the kindness and gentle nature she exhibited.

If he were completely honest with himself, he had half expected an attempt at seduction—after all, he had met the Comte. He was not an attractive man and Darcy doubted their marriage bed had been anything other than a dutiful one, on her part. Barring that, he feared he might be thrown together with Juliet. The Comte had made some noise to that effect, but Mariette quashed it in her gentle but firm fashion.

Now, he knew precisely why. Still, he marveled at Mariette’s generous nature. She had been dealt every unkindness imaginable, and his existence was a tangible reminder of the happiness that had ever been out of her reach. He looked remarkably like his father, which must have been painful, and he was the son of her lover’s lawful wife; how he must have been as salt to her wound.

Yet she had taken him into her home, aided him in his mission despite personal danger, and over the course of the many months he stayed in Toulouse, he had found himself opening up to her. He told her of Elizabeth, of his crushing disappointment, and she had encouraged him to examine the reasons behind her rejection; to address those weaknesses in himself without diminishing the valid sources of pride he possessed. From this distance, he could see that even when they sat and talked of literature or politics or art, even then she was guiding him to address his own heart.

In those few short months, Mariette de Montilvert had been more a mother to him than his own ever had been.

Darcy caught his breath, shocked at his own thoughts, but they were true. With the eyes of a grown man, he could see the woman who often hid with him in the nursery and played games with him and fussed over his toys was not a true mother. Anne Darcy might have given birth to him, but it was a fact she would rather forget. She never once attempted to teach him anything, or admonish him if he got out of hand; rather, she had been a partner in his mischief, encouraging him to steal brambleberry jam out of the pantry and laughing as they sat cross-legged on the nursery floor cutting out strings of paper dolls with their hands clasped together.

That young woman had been a playmate, a friend, a sister...not a mother. She could not have been; Anne Darcy was only ever happy in her childhood, and sought a return to those uncomplicated times through him.

Small wonder he had grown so arrogant and prideful. Between his mother’s illness and his father’s guilt, he had been pushed and prodded but never corrected. Could he have rescued even Wickham, if he had not been so caught up in his own conceit?

No, Darcy admonished himself. Wickham was responsible for his own actions, despite the encouragement from Darcy’s father or the dislike of the second Mrs. Wickham. Wickham was still a man capable of distinguishing right from wrong, and he had chosen wrong. Firmly so. Darcy could not blame himself for it.

He did, however, feel far less the burden to watch over Wickham in his father’s memory. George Darcy should have been able to see the consequences of his actions, yet he had chosen the detrimental course more often than not. Fitzwilliam Darcy suddenly found himself unwilling to shoulder the consequences of his father’s choices any longer. He was his own man, not merely his father’s son.

And not his father’s only son. Etienne...he ought to see them. Darcy was unsure they would accept this revelation, but they deserved to know of it. They deserved, as well, to know he would not desert them. Whatever Elizabeth and Charles had planned between them, Darcy would make it known he would damn well never abandon a brother and sister, even natural born.

Lord, how was he going to tell Georgiana? Would the allure of having a true sister by blood assuage in some part the betrayal she would feel at this tarnishing of her parents’ memory? This was not something that could be kept from her; she would have to know. Darcy did not relish the thought of that conversation.

The valet who had been puttering around the bedroom cleared his throat, and Darcy looked up to see not Gardiner’s faithful Bullworth but his own Godley. He smiled. Elizabeth truly did think of everything.

He was more fortunate than a man had any right to be. She was right; this storm they would weather together and be the stronger for it.

**  
*************************  
  
**

“What have you done to Harrington?” Elizabeth whispered over the rim of her tea cup.

They sat arrayed in the parlor, Harrington in deep conversation with his sister and Georgiana. The topic appeared to be music, not murder, thankfully. The pounding in Edmund’s head plagued him enough as it was for one day. “Harrington?”

“His sister too, appears to be cowed. She is studiously looking anywhere but at you, and not attending the conversation at all. Georgiana glances occasionally, and if she were capable of such an expression, those looks would be daggers.” Elizabeth took another delicate sip of tea. “When Joshua’s eyes stray this direction, his expression closes and his face becomes unreadable. Whatever you said to him seems to have had profound effect. Or should I say, whatever you bellowed.”

Edmund shifted in his chair and glared at Elizabeth. For once, he could have been spared the sharp end of her tongue. “You hair is different from earlier. When I arrived, I saw you briefly in the small morning room with Bingley. Your hairstyle was more complicated.”

“It was giving me the headache.”

“Mmm. And that bite mark on the base of your neck beneath that lace fichu, you also were not wearing that earlier?” He had the satisfaction of scoring a hit; she blushed profusely.

“Edmund! We are not discussing the perfectly understandable actions of two persons formally engaged and very much in love!” she hissed.

“Is it formal? Oh, good. Congratulations, dear Elizabeth,” Edmund offered honestly. “I suppose you were going to announce it at dinner last night.”

She sighed. “Yes, we were. Which brings me back to the matter at hand.”

Edmund groaned. Like a stubborn puppy, she would not let go of the bone once she had her teeth around it. “Lizzy…”

“Edmund.”

“Your morning call hours are about to begin, and we shall be inundated with guests. I promise I shall tell you all later. Or at least that I shall force them to tell you, but suffice it to say those three fools have done precisely that which I told them not to, and put themselves in danger.”

For a moment, she appeared to have a retort on her lips;her expression softened inexplicably and she reached out to pat Edmund’s hand. “I see.”

His eyes narrowed, and he nearly demanded to know what, precisely, she saw, but as he predicted the parlor doors opened and Partridge announced the first callers. Soon the room was overlapping with guests. Darcy joined them, looking fresher than he had any right to at this hour. Sir Edward did not appear, but Elizabeth had told him her uncle had gone out on business earlier that morning.

Edmund sincerely hoped said business had nothing to do with the Comte.

Conversation steered towards that subject relentlessly, though Elizabeth did her best to deflect it. Everyone murmured their surprise and an appropriate amount of both pity and unwillingness to discuss suicide, which leant the story a perfect air of verisimilitude. Miss Harrington and Georgiana put on creditable displays of being uncertain and frightened by the goings-on in a new city, and shortly had a crowd of comforting matrons surrounding them.

Miss Harrington—Edmund had to give her credit—played the part of the feather-headed heiress to perfection. She quickly turned the conversation to the sort of balls she could expect, where to find the best modiste, and pressed the women for detailed descriptions of all the venues in the city that had hosted a ball, could host a ball, or might be redecorated enough to potentially host a ball. Even though he knew it was show, Edmund still felt his eyes glaze over out of sheer boredom.

_Brilliant little minx._

Behind his chair, he heard Darcy deflect a comment to the effect of delaying his engagement due to the Comte’s death. They were not close, Darcy explained; he had only met the man a few times, and they were not blood relatives. Mourning would not have any impact on his plans to marry Miss Bennet. The two had been circulating their engagement as an alternative topic, and to the English callers in the room, it proved too tempting a morsel to pass up. It was perhaps the first and only time in his life Darcy might revel in creating gossip.

No one could possibly doubt their affection. The two smelled so strongly of April and May that Edmund felt he might start sneezing at any moment. The looks shared between them when they thought no one was looking were far too heated for their own good. The sooner those two wed, the better. Which reminded him to look in on Mrs. Bingley and discover how her mission to Lady Blackmore had been received.

 _Ever the puppetmaster_. Words Elizabeth had spoken to him months ago floated to mind. He had been idly considering the possibility of pursuing her, though she had no money. She had a brilliant mind, and the pair of them would have been a formidable asset to the Crown. She had a delightful form, as well, and marriage to her would have been no chore to consummate. Yet those words, spoken across a dark carriage, had stopped him cold in his tracks. There was a note of disapproval, as though she saw straight through his charm to the truth of the matter: he did not love her and never would.

She rescued them from certain folly and disaster with those words and set herself on the path to her eventual happiness. No one seeing her now, looking at his cousin with such warmth and pleasure, could doubt her affection. Edmund smiled to himself. He had not anticipated that Elizabeth would need Darcy as much as Darcy needed Elizabeth, but it was clearly true. He was glad. He might be a manipulative, cold-hearted bastard at times, but there was nothing he would not do to ensure the happiness of those he held dear.

Edmund turned his attention back to the general conversation, and immediately wished he had not. A handful of older ladies were discussing the difficulties of finding a new dentist, and his hands clenched into fists when they moved to the topic of false teeth.

 _No_ , he willed himself.

He sucked in a slow breath, but he could already hear that sound; the terrible, horrible crunching and wrenching. His mouth filled with the metallic taste of blood, though there was only tea and the remnants of a lemon biscuit. He could smell it. _Blood, everywhere_. God help him.

How he managed to set his teacup down delicately and gently excuse himself, he had no notion. The behavior ingrained from an early age seemed to guide him of its own accord, and neither Elizabeth nor Darcy noticed anything amiss. They likely assumed he needed the necessary.

Edmund forced his breath to come in and out at regular intervals, but still his vision seemed to darken at the edges, and the damnable smell of blood would not vanish. He stumbled into the morning room and sank into chair by the fire, out of sight of the door.

 _No, damn it all to hell, no._ Yet no matter how he railed at his thoughts, they still dredged up that awful bloody day and his hands shook as he lowered his head into them and his breath turned to gasps as he tried to keep himself together.

He had heard them before he saw them. Hearing had returned first. That damned ravine that none of them saw until it was too late, the screams of the hobbled horses, cries of men cut down by the French or crushed by their mounts as they fell; all of it came tumbling back as though it had happened yesterday.

There had been worse battles than Talavera, but that was the one that haunted him. That was the field he woke up upon in his dreams, the field that he lay on now in his mind. His head in a pool of blood-soaked dirt and dust, he woke and looked at a sky bright and furious, stabbing light into his eyes that cut as sharply as bayonets. It had been the noise that woke him. The terrible crunching sound of teeth being pulled from the French corpse next to him, and the low-breathed Spanish cursing as the two rough men put their boots on the skulls of the dead and yanked the teeth from their mouths with rusted tools. Teeth were as good as gold; sold to make dentures for the wealthy wanting better quality than wood.

They approached him, their footfalls heavy and clumsy, and he tried to wave them off, indicating he was still alive. He must have struck his head when thrown from his horse, but he could still feel his arms and legs. Damn it, he was alive, and no doubt would rejoin his regiment as soon as the British surgeons made their survey of the casualty field and helped him up.

He heard them speak rapidly in Spanish and his mind caught up with their meaning. He was dead, anyway, might as well take his teeth now. He couldn’t fight them. Open up his jaw.

The bloody hell, he couldn’t. His fingers closed slowly around the knife he wore on his hip. When the booted foot fell on his forehead, he swiftly buried the blade into the man’s knee. The man let out a howl, and Edmund kicked upwards, catching his companion in the delicates, bowling him over. He reclaimed his knife and rolled away despite the stabbing pain in his head, stumbling to his feet. He cursed them in Spanish, English, every language he could think of, and they fled, calling him the devil incarnate.

In that moment, with so much rage built within him, standing in the middle of a pile of corpses he had dispatched half of himself, Edmund could readily believe it. Had he found a rifle and loaded it in time, he would have shot the two wretches in the back as they fled, not thinking twice.

The pain in his head flared. He fell to his knees on the grass, all of it soaked through with blood and bile, and he emptied the meager contents of his stomach when the pain overcame him. It was too much to bear, all of it, and he rolled onto his side and stayed there, unable to move. Major Joshua Harrington found him hours later as dusk fell and hauled his battered body back to camp.

Fitzwilliam was not aware how tightly he curled himself until his forehead rested upon his knees, and he sensed a familiar presence beside him. Slowly, he began to uncurl, his breaths coming more regularly, and his heartbeat calming. Somehow, he had slid off the seat onto the floor with his back pressed against the wall, his shoulder digging into the wooden mantelpiece. He studied the carved acanthus leaves without really seeing them, yet deriving some comfort from their graceful curves.

He felt leather and metal beneath his fingers, and realized a flask had been pressed into his hand. He took a swift swallow. Whiskey. He coughed.

“I don’t know how you drink this bile,” he said as he handed it back to Harrington, who sat cross legged upon the floor beside him, his back supported by the chair Fitzwilliam had abandoned. The two had sat, slept, and played cards in worse places.

Harrington took the flask and screwed on the cap. “It’s horses, for me, for the most part. Any animal in pain, though. I hear the screams of the horses in my sleep sometimes. I used to dream of owning a racing stable, but damn it all, I do not think I could bear it now.” He rubbed his forehead.

“Remember the dog Jenkins shot when our rations didn’t arrive and we couldn’t find any rabbits? For the life of me, I cannot eat rabbit now, for I will always think of that dog.” Edmund shuddered. “Yet it’s the mention of teeth that undoes me. Teeth of all things.”

The metal end of the flask flashed in the low afternoon sun streaming into the morning room windows. “Considering how close you were too losing those pearls of yours, I can imagine.”

They sat in easy silence before Fitzwilliam felt closer to himself. “I never thanked you.”

“You would have done the same.”

“Yes, but that does not mean I am ungrateful. You saved my life, Joshua.”

Harrington shrugged. “I can still only offer that you would have done the same, and have done. I cannot possibly be asked to tally how many times over we owe each our lives to the other.”

“Nevertheless, I owe you my thanks, so accept them and stop grumbling. You might accept my apology, while you are at it.” Edmund shook his head. “I acted boorishly and unconscionably and I should never have pulled rank on you. I never have, and there was no justification for it. I have no explanation for my actions; I hardly knew what I was about when I said it.”

“You were likely thinking that you could cheerfully send both my sister and I to the devil, and I cannot blame you for it.” Another sip equalled a pause. “You were damned out of line, though, old boy.”

“Your sister and her knowledge are a subject I would dearly like to return to; however I feel this is not the time nor place.”

Harrington smirked. “You have my permission, for what it is worth.”

Fitzwilliam blinked. “Your permission for what?”

“To court her, of course.” Harrington tucked away the flask and stood, offering Fitzwilliam his hand. He laughed when Edmund simply stared at him, dumbfounded. “How else are you going to pick her brains without arousing suspicion? She has a comfortable dowry, you know, and an excellent pedigree. Despite her rather odd interests, which she conceals ably, she is quite adept socially. No one would think twice if the two of you were seen together around the city, especially as it is known you and I are close friends. Nothing could be more natural than your interest in my pretty heiress of a sister.”

Edmund came to his senses and grasped Harrington’s hand. “I do not…I am not in the market for a wife, man.”

“She is not in the market for a husband. So she protests, at least, but I think you should know, I fancy she has been rather in love with you since you danced with her at her come out ball.”

“I did?” Edmund frowned. He did not recall such a ball, but his time in England between battles was often a blur, particularly the social calls and parties. “She _what_?”

Harrington shrugged. “I could be mistaken, but Olivia and I have been as close as twins for much of our lives. There are few thoughts she possesses that I cannot read in her expression.”

Edmund scowled. “No woman in her right mind would set her cap at an old campaigner like me, certainly not someone so young. I shall likely wed a well-heeled widow, if I wed at all.” He brushed the dust from his coat. “Simply because Darcy is walking around in a Cupid-made cloud does not mean the rest of us must be shot with the god of love’s arrow, damn it.”

Harrington had ceased to heed him, looking at the door with an unfocused expression. “Yes, Darcy...Fitz, did I hear you say correctly that you are Miss Darcy’s guardian?”

“Along with her brother, yes. My father insisted his brother-in-law add that stipulation in his will. Darcy and I were close as children and still are. The pater felt Georgiana would benefit from two brothers rather than one, and our aunt’s influence upon Georgiana would thereby be negated. Darcy will not say boo to her if he can help it, but I lack no such compunction.” Edmund frowned, a sudden suspicion taking hold in his thoughts. He remembered Harrington’s rush to help Georgiana to her feet, and how she stayed beside the major and argued in his defense. “Why do you ask?”

The slight flush to Harrington’s cheeks was telling. “I suppose it does not matter, at any rate. I have no money, Fitzwilliam, and no prospects beyond the army.” He cleared his throat and set his own coat to rights.

It was on the tip of Edmund’s tongue to agree, to warn Harrington away from his precious Georgiana. She was a child, a sweet little innocent who…

...who was not so little any longer, and the same age as Harrington’s sister, who had been busy occupying all manner of inappropriate thoughts and dreams in Edmund’s head. If Darcy had stayed in England, Georgiana would likely have been brought out by now, and married to some beau monde fribble.

If Edmund were to search the length and breadth of all the continents, there could not possibly exist a man better than Joshua Harrington. “Ask her about Pemberley,” he found himself saying.

Harrington started. “I beg your pardon?”

“Pemberley, the Darcy estate in Derbyshire. Apart from music and drawing, which you have already seen, her home is Georgiana’s favorite topic. There are other estates, as well; including a lovely little place in Cornwall you could purchase off Darcy with Georgie’s dowry. She loves the seaside.”

Harrington had blushed, nearly as red as his coat. “Fitz.”

“If you treat her well, with respect and genuine affection, then I can have no objection, and I can assure you Darcy will have none; especially if your affections are returned.” Edmund shrugged. “He is marrying for love, why cannot his sister, as well?”

It appeared Cupid’s arrow had run rampant, after all. Edmund suppressed a shudder. Lord willing, it would not strike him. Especially not if he must pretend to dance attendance upon Miss Olivia Harrington. To fall in love was to lose control of one’s life, and that was something Edmund Fitzwilliam could never tolerate, even if the source of temptation was more than he had ever anticipated.

**  
***************************  
  
**

Over the past year, Georgiana had steadily worked to erase the habit of nervous pacing and wringing her hands. Yet handing her formidable brother the sheaf of drawings she had made, all of which were inappropriate to the highest degree (well perhaps not the highest, they were not... _French_ –not that she would ever even admit her knowledge of erotic art to anyone, let alone her brother) was perhaps the most terrifying act in her whole life.

Certainly more terrifying than jumping off the stable eaves when she was seven! That had only been to see if anyone would notice, which of course William had, and been horrified that she was so neglected. Strange, she had not reflected upon that incident in years.

“I did not look,” Georgiana offered into the silence. “I was not there, you understand. I merely drew from Olivia’s description.”

She turned to Elizabeth for support, only to find that her soon to be sister had deserted her. Yet at least Elizabeth had taken Colonel Fitzwilliam from the music room, so Georgiana supposed she ought to be grateful. If she were honest, Georgiana did not think she could bear an audience to William’s scolding.

Still he was silent. When at last he set them aside, he heaved a deep sigh and placed his face in his hands. She bit her lip, painfully, and her stomach sank as she realized how very great a disappointment she must be to him. What sort of wretched girl was she, that she had to pursue such macabre interests? Oh, Olivia did, as well, but Olivia was so clever and had been trained by her grandfather, such a noted physician and scientist, and truly it was a great shame she had not been born a man. Georgiana had no excuse but a perverse curiosity in subjects of which she should not even possess knowledge!

A sob escaped her before she had a chance to reign it in, and she found herself encased in her brother’s strong arms before she could faint. “Hush, little one,” he said softly, holding her close. “You have no reason to cry. I am not going to scold you.”

This only made it made more difficult for her to catch her breath and calm down, and he stroked her back gently as she sobbed. When at last she could speak, she struggled to utter an apology over how unnatural a sister she was, and how terribly sorry she was that he must bear such embarrassment. William pulled back, astonished, and brushed back the strand of hair that had come loose. “Is that truly what you think, dearest girl? That I find you unnatural?” He shook his head. “Nothing could be farther from the truth, Georgie, I promise.”

She sniffed, and he handed her his handkerchief, which of course was one that she had embroidered. “You are only saying that to keep me from crying.”

Will kissed her forehead. “Certainly not. Though I would not argue if you decided to cease the waterworks.”

That startled a laugh out of her, and he took her hand and led her to the settee by the pianoforte. It reminded her that she had yet to elicit the duet Elizabeth had promised to play with her. “Georgie,” Will began, “if I seem disappointed, it is not with you, but with myself.”

“You cannot blame yourself for my mistakes, brother.”

He put a finger to her lips to keep her from further argument. “Your mistakes? I see only limitless talent, and a capacity for intelligence and curiosity that has no other outlet. I am torn between disapproval of the subject–and that only because I would not wish you to know of such terrible things–and, I admit, some pride in your achievements. I do think it a great pity that you can never own your professional work. Not only would it be seen as work below our class, it was a work published in a journal of crime, and one which no lady would admit knowing.”

Georgiana swallowed. “You are not angry with me?”

“No, little one, I am not angry. Astonished, certainly, but not angry.” He shook his head, and lowered his voice to a whisper. “When Wickham took advantage of you and persuaded you to trust him, it was easily done not because of a flaw in your character, but because your nature is to be open and trusting and curious. You had no knowledge of men beyond your relations, no understanding of how a charming and attractive man can influence a woman, and you could not possibly have been prepared for the attentions of a man like him.”

She blushed, and looked away. If William had any knowledge of the hungry curiosity George Wickham had awakened in her, that man would not now be alive to roam the earth. “It is not an easy subject for a brother, Georgie, but hear me, do. You had no mother to warn you of desire’s impact on the senses, and Wickham is a man who wields desire, flattery, and charm as weapons.”

Georgiana could not possibly have turned a deeper red than her current color. Yet Will continued, despite her distress. “I will not allow harm to befall you again simply because I did not allow you knowledge. Lord knows death is not the same as seduction, but I will not keep you from this. I will not shield you from the world, little one, unless you ask it of me. In which case, I will be all too happy to pack you back off to Aristock Abbey so I do not have to fret over your well-being. Yet this is the world, sister. This is our life, and it is going to become more complicated, I fear. I do not think you should hide from it. I would rather have you know, so that you might protect yourself when I cannot.”

“You sound like Elizabeth.” Georgiana finally had the courage to look at her brother again, and saw that he smiled. “That is something she would say.”

He laughed. “Yes, I suppose she would. We ought to listen to her; she’s a rather clever woman, I find.”

“I am glad I shall have a sister, at last!” she exclaimed, and a shadow passed over her brother’s face. “William? You are still to wed Elizabeth, are you not? Oh, no, did her father not consent?”

He patted her hand reassuringly. “Have no fears, dear; Elizabeth and I shall be married no matter the obstacle. Rather, there is something I should tell you, but I am uncertain how.”

“Perhaps the best way is simply to tell it…”

“...and tell it simply,” Will finished the favorite saying of their aunt, Lady Ellen. “Yes, well.”

He took a deep breath and she listened in astonishment as he told her of their uncle’s letter and its contents. “Oh, my,” she said when he had finished. “Poor Father."

Will raised his eyebrows. “‘Poor Father’?”

“Well, I knew he had a mistress,” Georgiana hedged, “but I never suspected it was love. It must have been terribly difficult to be torn so between guilt, honor, and love.”

“How the devil did you know he had a mistress?” Will exclaimed.

Georgiana frowned. “His journals. Did you not read them? They are not particularly hidden; merely tucked away on a shelf in your study. He spoke once or twice in such loving language about a delicate beauty with green eyes and dark hair. Mama had blue eyes, and her hair was the color of straw, like mine. He did not write anything tempestuous, mind, simply mentioned her in passing. Enough that I suspected the truth.”

William shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. “No, I never read them. Perhaps I should have, but I could not bear it.”

That was perhaps for the best, Georgiana reflected. Their father had written a good deal of George Wickham, repeating his jokes and reflecting how proud Wickham’s father would be of his son. He did not write often about William, and when he did so it was often with concern that he would live up to his name and legacy. Their father had set nearly impossible standards for William, but Georgiana knew her brother had always tried his hardest to fulfill them.

“What are they like, the Baron and his sister?” Her new brother and sister. Would they accept the truth? Would William tell them?

“Quiet, reticent, much like another I could name,” Will replied, smiling at her. “Yet their timidity stems from fear and distrust of others, not uncertainty of themselves. Though I suspect uncertainty plays a part; I do not know that they have heard a kind word in their lives that was not from their mother. They saw her little after their father’s passing; the two lived in Brussels with the Comte, who largely ignored them and left them to servants, while Mariette traveled through war-torn France, trying to piece back together the D’Arcy heritage so they would have something to call home.”

“You knew her well?” Georgiana was afraid to ask the question foremost in her mind. William was always so formal, to hear him speak of a woman - other than Elizabeth - by casual mention of her given name was unusual.

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, and seemed to sense what she was truly asking. “Yes, I became very close to Mariette, almost as one of her own children. I only wish that you could have known her; I had not realized the lack of a motherly influence in my life until I spent time with her. She had a very nurturing nature.” He laughed softly. “To be honest, she reminded me quite a lot of Lady Ellen, though I doubt that good lady would appreciate the comparison. I know I resemble Father quite a bit, and perhaps Mariette saw the potential for Etienne though me, and treated me as one of her own. Etienne was not in Toulouse with us, though Juliet was - and yes, before you ask, little one, I can now see clearly why Mariette did not attempt to promote a match between the two of us.”

“Lord,” Georgiana exclaimed, “how disastrous that would have been!”

William laughed. “On several points, yes. Fortunately, I still had my head full of a certain stubborn Hertfordshire girl, and Juliet’s wispy beauty is not to my taste. Precautions were not necessary, and Mariette was able to sense it. She encouraged me to speak, at length sometimes, about Elizabeth and my disappointments. From this distance, it is obvious that her patient ear and thoughtful words were specifically calculated to undo nearly everything Father raised me to believe, from finding a wife to personal responsibility and the very nature of a gentleman. He wanted me to be what he could not; I see that now.”

Georgiana shifted in her seat. She did not like to speak ill of her parents, especially not to Will. After all, he had known them more than she. “Perhaps it is an unattainable standard,” she offered. “Gentlemen should strive, of course, to be the best and most honorable men they can be, but they are still men, and men are fallible.”

“Are not women?” he teased.

“Oh, heavens no,” came Elizabeth’s voice from the doorway. “Women are never mistaken. When a woman apologizes, it is never for herself. She merely apologizes out of pity for the unfortunate gentleman who cannot adapt his view to hers, and thus suffers wounded sensibility.” She entered the room in a swish of skirts. Georgiana had always admired how Elizabeth walked; it was purposeful and confident, and still feminine. Though, with Elizabeth’s form, one could not help but be feminine, even should one be wrapped in a flour sack.

William seemed easier, more relaxed as Elizabeth came closer. He reached out a hand, which Elizabeth clasped briefly before seating herself across from them. It was a simple gesture, but the loving unity it represented caused the back of Georgiana’s eyes to sting.

When he was a youth, far before their father had passed, William had been a warm and loving brother when he was at home–but he was far too frequently away. When he was home, and when Edmund was with him, they had nearly always brought Georgiana along for some adventure or another on the Pemberley grounds. Those were the happiest days she could recall; those days when it had felt as though she had a family.

As she grew, Georgiana had learned her duties as a lady of property, and had often visited with the Pemberley tenants. The Darcy family had always prided themselves on their excellent stewardship, not only of the land, but also those under their care. Georgiana sat by warm hearths in cottage kitchens that smelled of baking bread, played with children on rag rugs that were happy with simple wooden toys and dolls of burlap, listened to tales told by the old woman in Kympton who kept bees and made meade by moonlight. Then she had gone home to a big, cold, empty house to a father who patted her on the head and called her a good girl and then left her to her own company.

Her father had only ever attended her when she played for him in the evenings. As William grew older and took over the responsibility for the estate, Georgiana felt herself slipping from his notice as surely as she had slipped from their father’s. There were days at Pemberley when she only saw her brother during dinner and the brief hour of music after, before he retired to the study to tackle some obstacle of paper or another. Some nights, she played solely for her own amusement.

There were other evenings, though, when his younger self would emerge, and they would play chess while snowstorms raged outside, or stay up all night in the stable with a new set of colts, or chase down kittens in one of the barns with the help of a handful of giggling children from the village. They were few and far between as responsibility after responsibility had been laid upon William’s shoulders. He was, as ever, determined to everything himself and do it perfectly.

She did not know Elizabeth so well as she knew Jane, but Elizabeth seemed as happy as William in this alliance, and for that Georgiana was grateful. She had long feared the bride that her brother might bring home, and never dared to hope it would be someone she liked so much. Elizabeth looked at her now, and Georgiana could see the kindness and worry in her eyes. It felt, at last, as though Georgiana would finally have a true family; one that shared love and warmth like so many of those little cottages she had sat in, taking tea and telling stories to children.

“I heard some of the discussion,” Elizabeth said, and she leaned forward. “Are you well, dear Georgiana? I know it must come as quite a shock.”

“Oh! Yes, well. Yes, I am quite well at the moment. I suppose it still seems rather unreal; I have not met either of them, after all.” She shrugged. “I shall wait and take my cue to act from you and Will.” She shook her head. “I have not the first idea of how one should act when acknowledging one’s natural siblings."

“Well,” William said with a sigh, “I certainly have no experience in the matter.”

“I can see you are both looking at me, and let me assure you that my experience in the matter is null, as well! My father would have to leave his library in order for us to have natural siblings, and rest assured, that would be far too great an ordeal for him to undertake.” This pronouncement startled laughter out of both Georgiana and William. When she had recovered, Elizabeth said as an aside, “Georgiana, dear, I believe Major Harrington is waiting to either take his leave of you, or to escort you and your maid back home, should you wish. He is quite the gentleman for upholding politeness, and would not dare depart without first ascertaining if you required escort back home.”

Georgiana inwardly cursed her pale complexion, as she could feel the heat from a telling blush on her cheeks. Yes, she did want to say farewell to Olivia’s brother, and yet she also wished to run and hide from him. He produced the most unnerving effect upon her, with his deep voice and broad shoulders. He was nearly as tall as Will, so that she had to look up at him, and it made her feel off-balance.

Joshua Harrington caused her to feel things that she knew she was far better off not feeling. Those curious hungers, that complete awareness of another person’s physical being...it could only lead to trouble, and ruin, and she had come so very far from that girl whose head had been turned by George Wickham. And yet...and yet, Major Harrington had showed her nothing beyond civility and politeness. She should cease finding shadows in the sunlight, as Mrs. Annesley always said.

“Brother, if you can spare me, I would like to return to the house so that I can refresh myself before the evening. I did not sleep well last night, I could use the rest.” Thank heavens, her voice did not shake.

She did not miss the questioning look that Will gave to Elizabeth, nor did she miss the slight nod that her soon-to-be sister gave. Clearly, Elizabeth approved of the Major. Georgiana bit her lip; was Elizabeth that impatient to be rid of her? She looked down at the carpet, as she realized that she might not ever be more than a burden to her family.

“Georgiana,” Elizabeth said softly, “you may rest here if you do not wish to return home; I am sure Olivia will not mind your use of her bedchamber. If you do not feel well enough to see Major Harrington off, I can supply your regrets. I know that you must feel a bit overwrought at the moment, with everything you have learned this afternoon.”

 _No_ , Elizabeth’s words truly said, _you are not a burden_. She had been supplied a convenient escape from an uncomfortable situation, should she wish. Here, now, was the chance to run and hide. Coward, she chided herself.

“I thank you, Elizabeth, but I would like to return. I have not the faintest idea what I shall wear to the musicale tonight, so I must prepare by having Lily pull out and then replace everything in my wardrobe before I finally agree to the first gown she selects, as naturally she knows best and I should simply submit to her superior knowledge of my complexion and figure.”

Elizabeth laughed lightly. “Oh, heavens, that is precisely the scene every evening between myself and dear Maisie. Why do we not heed our maids’ counsel? It is, after all, precisely that for which we pay them!”

**  
****************************  
  
**

“Miss Harrington.”

 Olivia jumped, and nearly dropped her work basket. She had gone upstairs to fetch it and a shawl, in order to take up residence in the front parlor, where she could be out of the way. Everyone seemed to be disbanding for the afternoon, in order to rest up for the evening, during which they must present a unified front. She thought she might get some sewing accomplished, as the pastime always gave her ample time for reflection. It was a very meditative pursuit, to pull a needle with thread through fabric, and had the added benefit of something lovely at its finish.

She turned to find Colonel Fitzwilliam filling the frame of the parlor door. She sighed, and closed her eyes briefly, before opening them again to await another scolding. “Yes, Colonel?”

He stepped into the room, and his eyes fell on the small basket in her hands. “Embroidery? I cannot picture it,” he commented with a small smile.

It was an offhand remark, and one that meant little, but for some reason it struck her heart and she had to look away and swallow past a lump in her throat. “Why?” she asked, thankfully without much hoarseness to her voice. “Because I am so unfeminine? It is true, yet unkind of you to remark on such. How can I assist you, Colonel? If you have come here to scold me again, I do wish you would continue with it, and then leave me be.”

She walked to the window and looked out at the street, and only after a few minutes of silence, did she realize that he had not departed. “I meant no offense, Miss Harrington,” he said gently when she failed to turn back to him. “You are perfectly feminine, as you well know. I assume you own at least one mirror. My surprise was merely that you would take pleasure in a mundane, and to my thinking, boring task.” He cleared his throat. “I did not come to scold you, but to apologize.”

Olivia did turn at that, and raised her eyebrows in surprise. “Apologize?”

“Yes,” he said. “I should not have raised my voice to you, and I certainly should not have vented my spleen at Harrington. I have already tendered my apology in that case, and now I must seek your forgiveness.”

“Oh.” She looked down at her hands. “I did directly disobey your request.”

“True as that might be, that is no excuse for shouting at a lady.”

She rubbed the bridge of her nose. “I put myself and my brother in danger, and had we been discovered, it might have been a major diplomatic blunder for the whole of England. I am rash, Colonel, and I tend to leap in before I truly think. I may have been trying to help, and I do possess the knowledge to be of use, but as my father used to say, I am wont to run before I walk.” She had stepped closer during this recital of her deficiencies, and now found herself nearly toe to toe with him.

“I wonder you should ask me to get on with scolding you when you are so effective at doing so yourself.” His hand touched her shoulder, gently. “You might have been rash, Miss Harrington, but I was wrong to have dismissed you, especially after your brother assured me of your trustworthy nature. I trust Joshua Harrington more than I trust myself. I owe him my life many times over.” He sighed, and withdrew his hand. “I cannot keep everyone safe; that is the reality I must acknowledge. I am _terrified_ , Miss Harrington, for my cousins, my friends...I am a soldier. I have been a soldier for most of my life, and when I am faced with a threat to what I love, I wish to conquer it. That is simply my nature.”

“Yet Vienna is not a battlefield,” she offered in sympathy.

“Oh, it is,” he countered, “but it is a far more treacherous and ephemeral battle than I have ever engaged in before. I am unused to fighting in the shadows.”

Olivia pulled her shawl closer. “I would offer to help you, Colonel, but I think we both know that is unreasonable, given the outcome of today.” She shrugged and offered him a small smile. “I know that my brother owes you his own life many times over as well, and for that, if for no other reason, I owe you my loyalty. I will stand friend to you, should you need it, and I shall not go against your wishes again.”

He cast her a rakish look, and fairly purred, “Shall you not?”

Most women, she supposed, would have blushed or simpered in response, but Olivia could only laugh. His reputation with women was not unknown to her, and she could well understand the effect such charm could have upon a lady’s senses–if, of course, the lady in question did not understand that she was being played, like a fine instrument. “Rascal,” she chided.

His look was bemused and then sheepish. “Fairly accused,” he admitted. “Yet, I fear you must accustom yourself to it.”

“I must?” she repeated, confused.

The grin that spread over his face was nearly her undoing. It was both boyish and rakish at once, and the light in his eye was simply gleeful. It made him handsome and terrifying at the same time. “Indeed, Miss Harrington, for I have your brother’s permission to court you.”

Olivia stared. “You... _what_?”

“Well, I say permission, but truly, it was his idea. An excellent one, at that, I must admit.” He looked at her, and the mischief vanished from his expression. “I do need your help, Miss Harrington. I need a physician that I can trust, and that I can speak to discreetly. You fit that bill perfectly, my dear. I am the second son of an earl, and you are a lovely young heiress. There is nothing out of the ordinary for us to be seen together in public.”

“I...I am not looking for a husband, Colonel Fitzwilliam.”

“And I am not looking for a wife, Miss Harrington. I have no wish to be bogged down with family concerns beyond those I currently possess.”

“I am going on to Rome,” she continued, “and then to Salerno, to study midwifery. It is the only way I can be accepted among physicians. I will not return to England. I might go to Sweden; I hear the northern lands are more accepting.”

“I have no wish to stand in the path of what you desire, Miss Harrington, but here and now in Vienna, I need your assistance.” He smiled at her, and this time it was genuine, with very little of the rascal to it. “You did say you would not go against my wishes.”

Olivia swallowed. She would throw something heavy at Joshua the next time she saw her brother. “That was quite foolish of me.”

Now the smile had turned rakish. “It was, indeed. What if I wished to kiss you?”

“You said you did not wish for a wife.” Her mouth turned dry. He was staring at her lips.

“A kiss is not a proposal. It is simply a kiss.” And with that, she found herself in the position she had felt only in so many fitful dreams: wrapped in Edmund Fitzwilliam’s arms, clasped to his chest, with his lips pressed to hers. It was a delicate, teasing kiss, but when she yielded to it and kissed him back, it seemed to trigger a more primal response. Arms tightened and hands strayed, and it was several long minutes before she was released from the warmth of his passionate embrace into the cold air of the parlor.

Simply a kiss, indeed! Olivia risked a look at him, expecting to see a look of pure male triumph, but instead she found a bemused, glazed expression upon the Colonel’s face. The triumph, it seemed, was womanly in nature and hers.

She drew in a breath, straightened, and said in a steady voice that betrayed nothing of her wildly beating heart, “I would be happy to drive out with you tomorrow, Colonel. Shall we say five o’clock? I am certain the English in town have found a substitute for Hyde Park. If we set the cat among the pigeons now, they will have more to talk of, and less to try and overhear.”

“Indeed.”

“Good day, then, Colonel. Shall I see you tonight at the musicale?” She picked up her work basket with as much nonchalance as she could muster.

“Indeed.” He turned to go, and only remembered to bid her adieu at the doorway before he disappeared.

Olivia sat with her sewing in her lap for the rest of the afternoon, but failed to set even a single stitch.

 

**************

TBC


End file.
